Invisibility
by nambypambydoubtfulfig
Summary: Willow Inkpen has flown under the radar, stuffing her wild imaginings so deep inside, she fears they will never resurface. When shadows engulf her and her new little brother, bringing them to the mercy of the Boogeyman himself, she realizes they'll never be the same. And maybe, with the help of the Guardians, she can finally learn to free herself from the curse of her invisibility.
1. Chapter 1

**Hallow, there, readers! **

**For those who have just stumbled across this, THANKS for reading it! Pleasepleaseplease R&R, much appreciated! **

**This is sort of a preface kind of chapter - no Guardians yet, just setting up the general scene. :D Chapter numero 2 will be up shortly, just going to run it past my Inner Editor, and then everything should be good to go!**

**(FYI, I've rated this T because of some choice words of some douchebag supporting characters, and some implied mature content. Better safe than sorry!)**

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig**

"Hey, Willow!"

I whirled at the bright little voice, brushing a gloved hand over my chocolately locks to keep them from flying over my face. It was stupid November in stupid Southern Alberta, where the weather didn't seem to grasp the concept of "autumn". I knew my cheeks and nose burned bright red, because when I tried to shove them into the scarf bunched around my neck, they felt raw, like I'd face-planted into velcro. The muscles around my eyes were throbbing, from squinting against the sun, magnified by, like, a thousand by the snow, crusty from a few days of sitting, untouched. A bell rang somewhere down the street, but I couldn't tell which school it was that had dismissed its kids, since they were all along this street, including the junior high and my high school. Little bodies bobbed around excitedly, some clinging to a parent's hand as they turned their faces away from the wind, or one of their older sibling's, while the other shoved a cell phone under the flaps of their ski hats. I knew the little kids were all giddy about the snow, probably begging their parents or older sibling to make a snowman, or make snowangels. But a fierce, biting gale was sweeping people - including me - onto ice, which I found kind of amusing to watch. People tried (and failed) to gain any minuscule amount of traction, flailing their arms and hucking bags and Timmie's cups skittering across the ice. It was hilarious, watching people try to recover their dignity, in a rather undignified way.

I mean, it was funny, until it was me.

"Whoah!" My feet bucked out in front of me, but before my tailbone collided with the ice beneath my feet, hands linked under my armpits, hoisting me back up onto wobbly legs.

"Um, thanks…" I trailed off as I turned my head, since there was no one there to thank. My eyebrows furrowed under my knitted owl ski hat (whom I affectionately called Oswald), but I shrugged it off as I imagined someone skate back down the sidewalk on their backsides, their pride going unscathed because of the good deed he/she had just performed.

"Whoah, Willow, are you OK?" The bobble on top of Emmett's bright orange toque wobbled as he ran carefully toward me through the crowd of students.

I shot him a playful grin. I teetered a bit on my feet, feigning losing balance. "Ah… ACK!" My arms dove down towards him, and he giggled wildly, despite the fact that my tickles were dumbed down by his puffy crimson winter coat.

"Stop…" he begged between fits of laughter, "please!"

Standing erect again, I chuckled at the little guy. Those huge brown eyes had managed to stay warm in this ungodly weather. I rubbed the top of his toque affectionately, exposing red little ears and thick brown hair, curling gently onto the nape of his neck.

"Whatcha up to, buddy?" I held out my hand patiently as he fixed his hat, pulling it back over his hair and off his forehead. Grabbing it, he took little steps to keep his balance on the ice, using me as an anchor.

"Jack Frost sure was busy today!" he declared excitedly, gesturing wildly with his other hand to the snowflakes falling almost horizontally from the whitish-grey mass of sky. Or maybe he was just counterbalancing.

I chuckled, pulling his Avengers backpack from his shoulders. "You can say that again. I sure wish he'd take it a bit easier. I almost broke my butt falling on this stuff!"

"Did someone catch you?" he asked as I slung the little backpack onto my back. He looked like he was trying to skip, but I held his hand so he wouldn't fall.

"I guess so." My breath pushed fog into the swirling mass of white. "I suppose it was my Prince Charming!" I flicked my hair with a wink, except my hair was basically frozen solid, wavy and slightly frizzy from the condensation my breath deposited onto it.

Emmett giggled again as we slowed to check the street to cross. There wasn't a lot of traffic today - hell, it was Brooks, there wasn't a lot of traffic any day - so we crossed easily. Well, we slid across, but I guess that just showed the reason why a lot of cars stayed off the roads.

"I didn't see anyone," Emmett said blatantly. His poor little nose was almost purple, so I pulled up the zipper of his coat.

"Thanks, bud, for pointing out that my Prince Charming doesn't exist," I replied, steering him onto our crescent. The trees were completely bare of their leaves, and instead were burdened with major hoarfrost and sticky snow. It was most pretty like this, when you could sit behind a pane of glass and admire it, but it randomly decided to deposit snow onto our heads. On a bit of a more temperate winter day, we'd play like it was a minefield, and we had to dodge the dumping snow, but I couldn't feel any of me, so I trudged through the snowdrifts gathering on the sidewalk, Emmett cheerfully talking about how he had drawn the best picture of everyone.

"Leo said that I'd copied his picture," he said with a frown, "but even if it looked good, I wouldn't've. His was a lion, and tigers are _way_ cooler!"

"I'll take your word for it," I remarked with a smile, "but I wouldn't want to cross one, even if they _are _'way cooler'."

"Oh, I drew a nice tiger, Will!" he explained matter-of-factly. "Like Hobbes!" I knew he was just talking to impress me, but I didn't mind. Not many people tried to impress me. I'd take it where I could.

Together we trudged up the driveway, which was unshovelled, unsurprisingly, and bust into the door. Steam lifted from the doorway as Emmett fell inside, with me stumbling in behind him.

"Shhh," I reminded him gently. He was thumping his boots on the ground, trying to get them to come loose without having to bend down to pull them off. It was loud, not to mention messy - snow spewed everywhere, splatting against the walls. He looked at me sheepishly, sitting on the last stair. As I worked them past his heels, he flipped his toque off, revealing a lovely salad of tousled brown curls.

This kid was the reason I stayed. Just Emmett. Nothing else. Without me, who would he have? Besides, I was finding more and more that I needed him, too.

I held his sleeves as he twirled, pulling free of his sleeves, and he plodded up the stairs in his socks, which were half yanked down his foot.

I chuckled as I hung his backpack on the peg, along with his jacket. I stripped down myself, putting everything away so that no mess would be left behind.

After all, Jason didn't like messes.

Oh, yeah. I call my dad Jason. He's technically not my dad, that's why. If he had a label, he'd be "Not-Dad #16". My real one, along with my mom, had wrapped their car around a tree a few years back - you know, the whole cliché Canadian winter, not unlike the kind that sent snowflakes like bullets into the eyes of innocent citizens. I was seven, and since I didn't have any siblings, it was easy to take just Willow and try and fit her into other families.

I'd seen a lot of them - and not all of them had been bad. Just… not home. I mean, this isn't home, either, but I wouldn't leave Emmett alone here. I've had every kind of family - the soccer, run-her-ass-off mom who's involved in everything; the artiste and his wife, too deep into their work to remember things like peeing and eating; druggies (those ones didn't last too long - I couldn't stand the smell of weed or crack); but the most abundant had been couples who'd lost a kid. Whether it had been a regretted abortion, or a miscarriage, or an accident, or even a suicide, they scooped me up like a kitten and expected me to mold back into the child that they no longer had. Needless to say, it never ended well.

That's how Jackie and Jason started out. Jackie, Emmett's mom, had insisted that she take me. Typical Jackie - give her a credit card and a day off, and she could spend the equivalent of the amount of money to feed the entire continent of Africa. And she wanted a kid, since the daughter that Emmett wasn't had come out not breathing, she didn't want to go through the work of labour again. She just swung by and picked me up, perfectly manicured nails clacking against the steering wheel.

I kid you not, the first thing she asked me to do was to go shopping. With my little bag of belongings plunked onto her backseat, she eyed it deploringly, and took it as an invitation to spend money. On me, of course. That's how it started out. But suddenly I found myself trudging along behind her as she tried on endless "little black dresses" and stilettos that would snap my calves in half.

I followed Emmett into the kitchen, turning on the stove and setting a frying pan gently on top of it. Grabbing the milk, I hoisted Emmett onto the counter to sift through the mug collection in the cupboard above him. I yanked on his earlobe, to which replied by tugging on mine, so I poured a few glugs of milk into the pan. Swirling it absently with a wooden spoon, I thought of how, maybe, I was supposed to become Jackie's best friend. You know, that BFF you go everywhere with, you do your nails with, you let your mascara run as you watch cheesy chick flicks. She was that needy, she chose to _adopt_ her best friend. Yeah, that made a lot of sense.

Too bad I was a bit of a disappointment.

You see, I'm not like other sixteen-year-old girls. Whereas most would prefer to sit around and boy-watch, others would like to go out with their friends and actually make something of their lives, like walk dogs from BAPS (the rather depressing animal protection society in town), or something like that. Not me. I opted to write, surf the web, stream movies on Netflix, and/or chill with my new little brother. This kid was only seven and he understood me better than anyone had since my real parents died.

I could see why. And it made me decide not to blame Jackie. With Jason being Jason, she didn't have any real friends. She couldn't. Even she could see that. Which meant that Emmett, really, didn't have anyone.

Not anymore. I took one look at the mug he clutched in his hands as he hopped onto the floor, and I knew it would take something _really_ bad to get me to bolt.

" 'World's Best Whistler', huh?" I said, spooning in some cocoa.

"Yep," he replied, popping his "p".

"Well, don't demonstrate just now." I bopped him on the chin. "Grab me some peppermint, will you?"

He skipped to the pantry, sliding a bit on his socks, like they were little sleds. You'd think that having an abusive alcoholic as the main source of income in a family would lead to a poorly stashed kitchen, but au contraire, mon ami. Jackie insisted on keeping up appearances, which meant an exuberant kitchen, fully stocked, with the whole black modern glass thing where squares basically made up the entire design. It wasn't fun clipping at full speed around the corner, only to collide with something made entirely of right angles.

At least, this is the vibe I get from Emmett.

But yeah, even if we didn't get company, it was still vital to Jackie to make sure everything looked smoothed over. Like, if she got an unexpected call from an imaginary friend, or something, that she could just whisper to us to go to our rooms and be good. That everything looked just fine, even if a storm with the potential to tear everything apart was brewing underneath.

Maybe she was trying to hide it from Jason. It was a thought I'd had more than once. That, as long as everything looked okay, it would remain okay, although I knew it _wouldn't_ end okay.

Which reminded me, I had to wipe down the walls in the entryway. I didn't want to have to see Jason's butt-ugly face more than I had to. Right now, I highly doubted he even realized that I was a permanent member of the household. If he came out to see me again… and saw the mess we'd tracked in…

I hated winter.

"Here you go, bud," I murmured, spooning the hot chocolate into his mug. "Do you have homework?"

He eyed me blankly, like _when do I ever have homework?_

"Okay, I'm just checking." I held my hands up in surrender. "I'd say go play with your friends, but it's really cold out there. I don't want you losing an ear or something." When I yanked on his earlobe again, he grinned, a gap from a lost tooth starkly black between his front teeth.

"I talked to Rory and Ben, we're gonna play some XBox."

"Sounds like fun. Don't mess with my Minecraft. Watch out for creepers. Be careful not to spill, okay?"

"Okay," he said, eyes widening at the smell of the minty molten chocolate cupped in his hands.

I tipped the pan over my own mug - "If you were a booger, I'd pick you first!" - then ran it under some water.

"Hey, Will?" Something tugged at a lock of hair.

"What's up, bud?" I looked over my shoulder as I rolled up my sleeves.

"Thanks."

I pressed a smile. "My pleasure."

I listened carefully to his padded steps, and when his door clicked shut, I let out a breath. Jason better not step foot into that room.

As I washed dishes, I had to consciously resist the urge to hum. Stupid Jason was stupid. All he did was work nights, come home, lock himself in his bedroom suite (complete with a mini-bar and fridge - booze before babes, right?) and expect absolute silence during the day. I remembered the first day I came here, Emmett was really excited. You know. The whole "I've always wanted an older sister!" But he was just a smidgen too loud for Jason, and he came pounding out of his room, and… Well, let's just say I was on Emmett's side really fast.

Jason was an idiot. I hated to know that, while Jackie was out "socializing" - i.e. clinging to any woman she met in Safeway, where she worked - Emmett had to come home to nothing. No, not just nothing. Slime like Jason, ready to slip under that door and fly off the handle.

He'd never touched me, but I could see bruises on Jackie. He tried to be careful about it. By the elbow, under a sleeve, or under her collarbone, or under her brastrap. But I saw them.

I guess that's why Jason never laid a hand on Emmett. I absolutely refused to let a jerkface like Jason mess him up. Not this kid.


	2. Chapter 2

"God, you look cold." Murray, my boss, looked me up and down as I stepped through the door, swiping my boots on the rug.

"Cold, yes." I sniffed loudly. "Unprepared, no." Tugging Oswald off of my head, I held out the cardboard tray of drinks. "For you."

"Aw." His bottlebrush moustache curved upward in a smile. "You shouldn't've."

"No, I really should have," I replied with a beam as he wrestled the coffee from its spot. "Where's Wendy?"

"At the copy centre." He quirked an eyebrow, widening one of his eyes, which were reduced kind of abnormally behind his thick glasses. He'd always struck me as a huge resemblance to a turtle. Or that guy off of the Simpsons. But I didn't watch enough of it to know what I was talking about, so I stuck with the turtle analogy.

"What?" I asked at his scrutinizing look.

"You're not taking brown-nosing lessons from her, are you?"

"If I was, would I be taking her coffee?"

"Ooh, a double negative. Sheesh, it's Monday, don't start that kind of stuff this early in the week."

I didn't really understand what he said, so I just smiled and hobbled on frozen feet to the copy centre. I dropped off the snowflake latte at Wendy's station and headed to the back to my locker. Exchanging my coat, hat, mitts, scarf, and backpack for a sharp-looking pair of black flats, I slammed the door shut, clipped the lock back on and slipped the flats over my little ice-cubed toes. Heading back out, clutching my own latte in my clammy hands, I passed a hand over my eyes. I was so glad that I had made sure to get an extra shot of espresso. After the day I'd had, I deserved it.

"Cheers!" Wendy held her cup up with a smile, so I did too, then downed almost half of my drink. Her head ducked back down to catch the laminated bumblebees flopping out of the machine. Her voice floated up and over the counter. "I'll be up there in a second. Why don't you go and help that customer?"

I glanced anxiously over the shelves of the Stationer's. Sure enough, wedged between the Playmobil and the filing folders, a grey head bobbed around.

I'd only been working at this office supply/specialty toy store for the past few weeks, but I still couldn't get used to talking to people. Especially strangers in this stupid little town.

With no small amount of charm, oozed on to the point of embarrassment, I guided the little old lady to the opposite end of the toy section (crazy old coot was going to let her two year old grandson play with dolls the size of a baby carrot. Maybe she should visit the doctor and get off a few of those prescription meds. They seemed to be addling her brain). I made my way back to the cash register, gulping my coffee like it was the elixir of life. Two full carts of toys waited for me, with a pricing gun and a packing list resting on top of a box of games.

I breathed a bit easier. These jobs I liked. I liked their definite system - find the price, set the gun, punch out stickers, stick onto barcode, organize priced items into groups, find their homes on the shelves. No questions asked. Unlike talking wishy-washy with people who didn't know what they were talking about. I didn't like the pressure of having to find the perfect fit for them. I mean, I didn't mind so much behind the register, since our time together had an end in sight, and they had what they wanted in their meaty little hands, and I was able to get money into mine.

Relieved, I picked up the gun, clicking the little wheel so the stamp read $18.95EA, and started snapping stickers onto Groovy Girls' tags. When the little old lady was finished and ready to buy (she clutched a box of those weird "specialty" building blocks that look like half-cracked eggs, but hey, it was better than a choking hazard), I rang her through with a shy smile.

"Jack Frost been nipping at your nose?" she asked good-naturedly, gesturing to my red nose.

"More like knawing," I admitted, and she chuckled at me as I pulled a Kleenex from the box I kept handy. "You stay warm, now."

Work was usually pretty slow, and today was no exception. Even I had to admit our prices were outrageous, so only people who knew Murray came in, or diehard local shoppers. During the day, I was lucky to ring through a person every hour. Most of the time, people came in to get things copied or laminated, which wasn't in my job description, which meant that I spent a lot of the time testing out toys. I could personally guarantee that all the tin yo-yos in the front and the Rubik's cubes on display worked perfectly. When I was _really_ bored, I'd doodle around on the testing pads in the pen section. It was weird to think that bits of me were written down in that store, but it was somewhat comforting to think that no one would ever realize it was there.

I kept checking my watch every five minutes, but it just seemed to egg time on. _Oh, you're in a hurry? Oh, I'll just take my time then,_ my watch seemed to jeer at me.

At five-thirty, the bell letting us know someone was opening the door rang, just like it always did. A rush of cold air blasted the hair back from my face, and I didn't look up from my spot on the floor, where I sat placing things in the display case. I just shouted up and over my shoulder toward the general direction of the door: "Just a minute, Jules, Wendy's cutting some business cards."

"Although I appreciate the compliment, a jewel, I am not."

Um.

"I'm more of a snowflake, myself. Unless, of course, you _want_ to call me a jewel."

That was not Julie. As I slid the newest Rory's Story Cubes onto a cleared space, I turned my head toward the door.

A guy was standing there.

A guy my age.

A _good-looking_ guy.

In _Brooks_? How was this even possible?

A flop of snow white hair stuck up in all directions, dipping into his eyes, which were a frosty grey-blue. They seemed to freeze me in place. Cool hues of silver battled brightness of cobalt surrounding his pupils - sort of like how green melded into brown in my own irises. His face was angular, and his eyebrows were almost black - surprisingly dark, considering the overall paleness of him. He looked as if he would instantly burn to a crisp after ten minutes in direct sunlight. His cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears were delicately pink, like he'd only been touched by the cold by the three-second trip from the car to the front door - although I could see no car beyond the front display. His thin neck disappeared into a hoodie that was laced with frost, which was no surprise to me, but the fact that he was _barefoot_ in this weather kind of did throw me for a loop. That, his battered pants (they looked at least 300 years out of style), and what looked like a shepherd's crook, hooked over his shoulder casually, were admittedly a bit odd.

"And now she's staring," he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. It was enough to snap me out of my observations. "Don't let your ovaries explode over there."

I blushed a bit. "Umm… sorry. There's just this lady who usually comes in at this time to visit with Wendy in the back…" I hoisted myself to my feet, brushing dust off of my dark jeans. I mentally kicked myself for the awkward rambling, twitching my mouth up in a sheepish grin. "Um. Can I help you with anything?"

The light left his eyes, and the cockiness that oozed from his voice a few moments before disappeared. He seemed even confused, if a touch embarrassed. "Wait a minute. You can see me?"

"Um, yeah." My eyebrows collided. "You feeling alright, buddy? Been at the Brooks' too long?" That was the bar a block down the street. You'd be surprised at how many lovely patrons of the Brooks' I had to help out the door. Most of the time, they couldn't tell which way was up.

"You can hear me, too." He nodded, a sheepish smile pinning me into place under his hair. "I didn't mean to creep you out. I didn't think you could hear me."

"What, standing three feet from me? You were looking right at me!" I scoffed. "Dude, you need some help."

He narrowed his eyes at me. I couldn't decide if he was evaluating, or being creepy, with that half-cocked grin. "And you're how old? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

I crossed my arms. I didn't like where this was going. Like I was going to tell a complete stranger what my age was. Pitching my usual social awkwardness aside, my self-defence kicked in. I snapped, "Should I grab Murray? I'm kind of busy here."

"Oh, don't let me get in the way." He flashed a smile, one I could only call _minty_, it was so sharp and white. So incredibly boyishly lopsided. "I'll just have a look around."

He swung himself around on one heel, stooping to look closer at things that caught his eye. I sighed, and turned back to my work. A guy like him wasn't bound to be very interested reinforcements and notebooks when a bundle of estrogen was only feet away, so I stubbornly ignored his sideways glances at me. I pretended that the toys were much more interesting than the incredibly hot boy, who, strangely enough, looked like the living incarnation of winter himself.

"Are you needing any help?" Wendy's soft voice appeared out of nowhere, over my shoulder.

I jumped, but after a loose breath, I flashed her my dimples. "Nah, just a customer, but he's just browsing."

"A customer? Did he leave?"

"Um, no." I looked up at her, hoisting a thumb over my shoulder. "He's over there, in the doll aisle."

Wendy's eyes dropped to me worriedly. "There's no one there."

"Yes. There is." I turned to look at him, and he swivelled his head at the same time to send me a wicked grin.

"Willow. The aisle is empty." She sounded stern, which I knew was Wendy-ese for concern.

"Is it…" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes." I hardly listened to her as I glanced back to the aisle, but there was no one there. No mess of white hair, no wooden staff poking up above the shelves of daybooks. Just a rush of cold air. "Willow, you're working yourself to death. Maybe you should take the evening off."

"I'm fine," I grumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose, as pain blossomed from behind my eyes. "I'm not insane."

"That's debatable." She half smiled. It wasn't a sharp smile, something I could cut myself on, like the boy's, just a small one, like a friend advising a friend. "You're overtired. Maybe you should get home, you know, spend some time with your family."

"It's fine," I repeated quickly. Maybe too quickly, because she stopped talking as she took in a breath to speak. She held it there for a few seconds before finishing. "Go home. For God's sake, you bought me coffee today, let me repay you by stocking things up today, okay?"

I sighed. I needed every penny I could for tuition, but I figured the extra few hours of sleep would be nice. "Okay."

"There. Go get your stuff on."

Obediently, I went into the back to grab the contents of my locker. As I headed out the door, I called, "Thanks, guys!" With one sweeping glance around the store for the boy, trying to keep my heart beating normally when I realized he was gone, I pushed open the door.

_This is _way_ too weird. Maybe something's wrong with me. Maybe Social Services should put me into an insane asylum._

"Hey, wait a minute, Willow," Murray's voice stopped me in the middle of the doorway. The bell rang persistently above my head. I tried not to groan when he strode toward me, long legs swinging through the aisles. "It's way too cold out there to walk. How far away do you live?"

I shrugged, tugging Oswald over my ears. His stern "I'm the boss" glare broke me, though, so I mumbled, "Garrow Crescent."

"I'm getting my coat."

"Honestly, Murray, it's fine -"

"What was that? You normally get home by _nine_?" His dry joke made me nod my head to Wendy, mocking a "hardy-har" in her direction.

Thing is, I don't like to get too cozy anywhere I go. Murray didn't know anything about my family, other than my surname (which I kept as Inkpen, since changing my last name every time I changed cities would make me basically identity-less), and I made sure that I was clear from the moment he hired me: I didn't expect a raise, or increased hours. Nothing more than what I had now. He didn't even know what my money was spent on - other than coffee, that is.

Truth was, it was all going into a sock I kept buried in my backpack. Every cheque I cashed, every piece of change kids at school repaid me, it all was in there. I knew it wasn't even close enough to pay for tuition for a semester at a community college, let alone a high-class university, but it was all I had. The hope that someday, I could make something out of my own life, instead of adults pretending like they knew better.

When Murray pulled up to my house, I tentatively peered out my window, hoping for no sounds of smashing glass or cracked panes. But there was nothing. Just Emmett's light was on.

"Thanks, Murray," I said, popping the handle of his stuffy car.

"You want me to walk you up?" he asked, ducking to get a better view through the open door.

I shook my head. "It's all good. I think everyone must be sleeping. Good night!"

Before he could answer, I closed the door. I followed the knee-deep trench that Emmett and I had formed on our way home from school, and was able to slip my things off without making much of a mess, or a racket. Sliding up the stairs and down the hall to Emmett's room, I pulled my hair out of the braid I'd shoved it into. I drummed my fingers along the doorframe. Two solid raps came from the doorknob, so I knew I could go in. This was a system we came up with after Jason came out to scream about Emmett's room being across from his - "fucking kid won't shut the fuck up" - and it seemed to work pretty well.

Emmett's TV was still turned on, blaring the plain grey menu of the paused Minecraft game. I made sure to close the door behind me as softly as possible before dropping onto his twin sized bed. I felt bad, sitting on that ratty old Toy Story comforter. I was giving Buzz Lightyear a killer view.

God, could boxer shorts be any more adorable? I mean that in a totally non-perverted way, but sheesh. Emmett in his oversized white T-shirt and little heart-covered boxers, with crazy hair from sweating under a toque all day, and goofy grin sliding across his face easily as I entered the room - he was the exact depiction of cute.

"How's the game going?" I asked in a hushed whisper.

"I'm whooping everyone else," he stated in his matter-of-factly kid tone. "How was work? You're home early. You haven't been bagged, have you?"

I blinked at him. Then the automatic Emmett-to-English translation tool in my head kicked in. "No, I haven't been sacked," I murmured with a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, that's it." He smiled, plopping down next to me on his squeaky mattress.

"Wendy said I needed a night off."

"Oh. Cool." He gasped in a burst of an idea. "You could come outside and play with me!" he nearly squealed, until I held a finger to my lips. The screeches stopped, but he still wiggled around like he had to pee, staring up at me with a hopeful light behind those baby browns.

"I would, if it wasn't booger-freezing weather. And if you hadn't noticed, it's pitch black out there, bud," I added, trying to ignore the pooling guilt in the bottom of my gut as he slumped his shoulders, "and I'm pooped. I need some power sleep. You know, recharge my batteries."

"I guess all robots need recharging," Emmett said slowly, face shining again as he looked up at me, like I was the awesomest robot that had ever short-circuited.

Which, today, I think I did.

"Whatever you say, dude. I'm going to have a bath, but I'll be up to tuck you in by bedtime."

"Kay." He tried to crack his knuckles menacingly, but no noise popped from his hands. "I'm not done with these weaklings yet."

"Don't kick their butts too hard. You don't want to make too many enemies."

He was already absorbed in the pixel land he'd created, the usual cowlick reaching high into the air, by the time I shut the door behind me gently.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hewo, lovelies!**

**Like 50 views? Not bad for a first-timer :D If you'd R&R, that'd be swell, too. :)**

**Sooooooo... Yeah. This chapter's a bit dark, I guess, but ol' Frosty's making an appearance, so... Yeah.**

**I write (obsessively) for fun. Can't you tell? ^**

**Enjoy! Even if you don't... Meh. I honestly don't really care. This is more for my own enjoyment, to be quite frank with you. But if you have something you'd like to add/cut out/criticize, by all means, feel free to let me know! It would be nice for friends in the writing community to let me know how I'm doing in relation to real-world works :D**

**Thanks everybody!**

**doubtfulfig ^_^**

Steam swirled around the ceiling, condensing along the top edge of the mirror. The fog reached down to muddle the image of the girl staring back at me. It caused her ample collection of freckles to blur together into one mass of red, like she'd just been complimented by a male. Which, believe me, was a miracle in and of itself. A dark brow, just a shade overgrown, arched sardonically over her right eye as she examined me. I mean, sure, we were getting a little hippy, and maybe we had a blaring red spot on our chin, but overall I didn't think we looked too shabby. Full lips curved up in a half grin, exposing moderately white teeth that had been perfected by braces a year before. Cheekbones poked out from under hair like black coffee, which hung down around her shoulders, reaching just past her chest-area. Where she lacked pathetically. Honestly, I could probably wear Jackie's bra over mine, and still have an inch or two of wiggle room.

Despite that, I didn't take any chances. I made sure to use the basement bathroom, bolting both locks and sliding the drawer door open, so he'd have to bust through the cabinetry to get to me. "He" as in Jason. The first time I had a shower here… well, let's just say it didn't go very well. It took me no time to learn the importance of five-minute showers.

But after the day I'd had, and the stupidly bitter winter I knew was going to settle down for the next six months, I decided to risk a bath. I mean, this bathroom worked just as well as the one upstairs, and, if circumstances escalated, I would be able to hear him stumbling down the steps before he reached here - enough time to throw a bathrobe on and sit against the door.

I sighed, sniffling a bit as the steam melted the contents of my nostrils, I sinking low into the hot water. I let my mind wander back to the guy who'd come into work earlier, splashing water up the sides of the tub gently.

I knew I wasn't insane. I knew it. Social services had me tested. More than once. Because, apparently, unstable children are the ones who continually run away from their families. But, somehow, I was never labelled as a loon. Just damaged.

So what the hell happened? I didn't think I was lonely enough to justify creating imaginary boys. After all the "daddies" I'd had, I knew I would never need a guy to make me happy. At least, I hoped that was true.

Maybe he just left. But no, the bell would have rung had he used the door. And he'd been there when I mentioned him to Wendy, but she still couldn't see him.

I shrugged, dunking my head under the water. It didn't really matter. After a good night's rest, I should have my head back in ship-shape. After all, I figured mildly, it hadn't been the first time I'd seen things that nobody else could. And, quite frankly, I didn't mind it that way. Maybe the world was just different to me than it was to others. And that was ok by me. The world deserved a few more good things, even if they were imaginary.

By the time I unplugged the tub, throwing my hair up into a towel, my fingers were prunes and my brain was mush. Maybe it was because of exhaustion, or maybe because the hot water had melted it down a bit. Whatever had happened, I was ready for my PJ's and a cup of tea.

After throwing on some plaid pants and my MusiCamp Alberta T-shirt, I brushed my teeth, padded silently up the stairs, and retreated to my room. My hands traced the little scribbles scrolling over my shoulder, written in haste by my friends and supervisors, and my mind wandered idly to my two-week experience at band camp. It was the most at home I'd felt since Mom and Dad died. Like-minded music people, who all felt like they were misfits. They all thought they were misunderstood. Maybe that's why I understood them so well. I mean, I didn't have a home — the current one at the time, family number 13, sent me off. I knew it was sort of a "test period" — you know, to decide whether they enjoyed life better without me. Which, of course, they didn't. But I did. When I got home, I didn't bother unpacking. I just hopped on the C-train to downtown Calgary.

I flopped back on my bed, about to pull my phone out and whip off a text to my friend Emma, who lived up in High River and was a fellow potential flautist. But my thumbs danced idly over the keypad, and it suddenly hit me that there was nothing to talk about. What was I going to say? _Hey, Emma, guess what? My new dad is an abusive douchebag, not only to me, but to my new little brother, too! I love him to pieces, but I hate Jason's guts, so I'm kind of trapped. But I'm doing great, aside from the fact that I saw a boy that apparently doesn't exist at work today! How are you doing?_

I didn't even have my flute anymore. I hadn't had a lesson in God knows when.

My phone clicked itself off, deciding that I'd spent enough time attempting to socialize. Tossing it over my shoulder, I curled over onto my side to look out my window, but the orangey glow from the streetlamp was smothered by hoarfrost. It was quite pretty, actually, with the light dancing through the delicate fern latticework that glazed over the glass.

I plaited my hair quickly, and pulled back my covers so all I had to do was jump in and sleep - which, tonight, wouldn't be much of an issue. Yanking some socks over my blueing toes, I thought rather miserably of how I never seemed to beat the cold. I pressed the door open gently, tiptoeing kind of ungracefully across the hardwood hall to Emmett's room.

I had to smother a giggle as I shut the door. The poor kid had flopped over, mid-Minecraft, sprawled on the floor. A zombie was enjoying a fresh meal - Emmett's avatar stood helpless, red flashing continually across the screen, as the boy manning him zonked. For once, his breathing was deep. Funny, how dreamless sleep could do that. Take away your fears, your memories, your consciousness. You didn't even have to worry about caring about whether people saw you drooling or not, because you were dead to them anyways.

_Huh,_ I thought. _Maybe that's why I love it so much._

I flicked the lights off, saved his game (I of all people understood the frustration of progress lost because some ignorant soul turned the it off before you saved), and made sure the light of his Xbox glowed a steady amber.

"Hey, dude." I poked him gently, rousing a grumble from him. "Let's get you tucked in, ok?"

He nodded, but screwed his eyes shut harder, as if it would magically put him back under. I hoisted him up onto his feet, leading him blindly toward his bed. _I hope to God his wife is patient enough for this kind of thing, _I mused, yanking back the covers just as the pooped little guy fell into them. A heavy sigh was released into his pillow.

Eh, I didn't worry too much about him. His adorableness would attract the right girl someday. Then, maybe, I wouldn't have to be the most important girl in his life.

The thought was all terrifying and sad and oddly freeing.

"Night," I murmured gently, pulling up Buzz Lightyear's head to drape over his shoulder. Emmett mumbled something back, but I couldn't discern it, since the pillow absorbed the defining consonants. I just tugged on his earlobe and went back to my room.

Where I almost had a heart attack.

There was a silhouette just beyond the frost on my window. A lean one, with sharp angles for shoulders and the outline of a long weapon leaning against them. I didn't know what it was - a rifle? Or a baseball bat? - but I forced my breathing to continue as I dove for my lamp. With the shade ripped off, it was easy enough to swing. If I clipped his temple hard enough he'd conk out for sure.

I stood there, behind my bed, in my PJs, wielding a lamp, for a good five minutes. My heart was beating so loudly and rapidly, I didn't realize that he wasn't trying to bust in until a voice floated through the glass gently. The noises I heard against the glass weren't harsh attempts to smash it, but gentle knocks. Like knuckles rapping softly against ice.

My lamp still aloft, I reached forward and unlatched the bottom of the window. If this guy was a raging lunatic, he would've busted in by now. I would've been dead on the ground, in a pool of my own blood. So this guy obviously had other reasons for coming.

I mean, he was polite enough to knock. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still, I kept my deadly lamp stand pointed directly toward the glass as I backed away.

The pane swung open slowly, and pale fingers wrapped gently around the chipping wood. My eyes widened a bit as frost thickened around the hand, sweeping from the outside of the pane to the inside. As it crackled, expanding gently in swirling ferns, a head poked into my chilling room. White hair fell into his wintry eyes, and a smirk tugged one side of his mouth upwards.

It was the boy. It was him.

"I _knew_ I wasn't crazy," I murmured, a fleeting smile flashing across my face. I had to admit, I was beginning to doubt myself. My breath came out in little puffs, rising and dissipating.

"Says the girl wielding a lamp." His eyes glanced at my socked feet. "With inside-out socks."

"They _happen_ to be more comfortable that way," I said matter-of-factly. "Close the window, would ya? It's freezing."

His smug smile expanded over to the other side of his mouth. I got the strange feeling he was hiding something. I didn't like it.

"Not until you drop it." He stared me down, sliding his butt onto the sill so his feet still dangled outside.

I snorted. "No."

"Drop it," he commanded slowly, pointing a finger down like he was ordering a dog to sit.

"No!" I swung it back over my shoulder, sending the cord flying around my elbow, and he flinched back. I glared smugly at him. "Get out, if you don't want a clobbering."

"With a lamp."

"Yes." I narrowed my eyes at him. "This lamp is just as capable of manslaughter as any other blunt weapon."

"Aren't you a bundle of joy." He shook his head, snorting as he looked back outside. I noticed that the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck curled upwards, like he'd spent too much time looking upwards at the moon.

"Seriously. Get out." I edged closer to the window.

"What's your problem?" he asked indignantly. His hands splayed upwards in surrender. "I'm not about to murder you in cold blood."

"Thanks to you, my blood's already cold. One step down, one to go."

"Does it look like I have a motive?"

"You have a weapon, which is close enough for me."

"What, this?" He pushed the outline from the frigid air outside to the frigid air inside. It was his staff. The G-shaped crook at the top pointed upwards, like it could hook itself into the fleshy part of my jaw. Where his hands touched it, it glowed a faint blue. Like his hands were colder than the winter outside.

I glared at him stubbornly. "Yes, that!"

"It's about as harmful as your lamp, snowflake."

"_Don't_. Call me that. No affectionate nicknames. You don't even _know_ me!" Who did this guy think he was?

"Well, you obviously know who I am."

My eyebrows screwed themselves together. "Obviously," I repeated.

"Yeah, _obviously_." He rolled his eyes, swinging his legs over the sill swiftly, flicking his staff over his shoulder. "Let me in, would you?"

"_No._ God. You think I don't know what you're doing?"

He frowned slightly. "Um."

"You're a _teenage boy._" I rolled my eyes. "You saw me at work, thought I was cute and followed me home in the hopes that you'd get lucky. You even _climbed my roof._" At his blank stare, I pressed on. "You young males. You all neglect the usage of your brains in favour of the usage of the thing in your pants."

That shut him up, surprisingly. No flirtatious comebacks. He even had the decency to blush, pink blooming into red across his cheekbones. "Um," he repeated intelligently, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes wandered anywhere but toward me, avoiding my pointed stare.

It was my turn to blink at him. I lowered my lamp to gesture wildly to him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I implored loudly. "How can that be embarrassing to you? Have you never joked about anything like that before?"

He looked at me for a while with sheepish eyes. Man, those eyes could change in an instant. One moment, stinging silver, cold and snarky, and then melting from embarrassment into what I could only call ice-blue.

Finally, he held out a hand. "The name's Jack Frost," he said, attempting a small grin.

I rubbed my forehead. "Very funny. You're hilarious."

"Shake my hand!" He shook it midair, splaying it pressingly. "Decide for yourself!"

I eyed him warily, adjusting my grip on the rod of steel. He reminded me a bit of Peter Pan. Childish. Hanging on a windowsill. Offering a hand into a world of the immature. Into the naive.

Too late for that.

I sighed, defeated. Tucking the lamp under my armpit so that the bulb stuck out toward him, I clasped his hand in mine.

I honestly shouldn't've been surprised at the shock of cold that his fingers were. I'd always thought my extremities were clammy - what's the phrase? Cold hands, warm heart? - but his were, literally, like ice. Cold, hard ice.

Our joined hands bobbed in midair gently, until I pulled back, crossing my arms. I stepped back, appraising him with narrowed eyes."Okay, fine. You've been out in the cold for a while. Maybe you should wear some socks." I eyed his bare feet, dangling a foot from the floor.

"You don't believe me?" There was laughter in his voice. "Challenge accepted."

Before I could protest, he knocked the butt end of his staff onto the ground, sending a skiff of ice spreading across the waxed hardwood. I hardly even noticed his snarky grin. I was too busy trying to pull my socks free of the frozen water that had fuzed to their fibres.

"Ok, ok, I give," I said quickly. A giggle cut the sentence into a few chunks. "Alright, Frosty. I give."

"So you can call me Frosty, but I can't call you snowflake." Jack dropped to the floor, lifting his staff so the ice retreated.

I set the lamp down, watching it wobble on its base. "You _are_ frosty."

"What, and you're not a snowflake?"

I shrugged. "Delicacy is not my strong point."

A crystalline cold speck landed gently on my nose, after floating in circles around me. "Ok. Fair enough," he said, his eyes drifting to the shadeless lamp. They flitted back up to me. The smidgeon of embarrassment I saw in them before was gone, like the snowflake that had just vaporized on my nose. "What _can_ I call you, then?"

"My name's Willow."

"Like the tree?"

"Yeah, like the tree."

"Huh. And, if you don't mind me asking," he raised a thin eyebrow, "how old are you?"

I didn't detect an ounce of creepiness. Just transparency. "I'm sixteen."

He nodded, chewing on his lip. "Huh."

"What?"

"It's just…" he shrugged, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. The staff pierced the loop that his arm made. "Not a lot of kids your age see me."

"My age? What about you? You can't be that much older than me."

He opened his mouth, taking a breath, but a small voice interrupted his.

"Willow? Who are you talking to?"

I swivelled my head around, causing my braid to flop over my shoulder. My smile was automatic.

"Ah… a new… friend of mine." I held out my hand. "What are you doing up, Emmett?"

"I heard you talking, and there was a man's voice." I heard the worry in his voice. Like he was scared that he couldn't save me. But I crouched down and swept the hair off of his forehead. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jack Frost. The strange boy was slowly stepping forward.

"Not who you expected, huh?" I murmured gently.

With a shy headshake, I felt his hand clasp onto mine. "Did he hurt you?"

My heart twinged at the fierceness in his tone. I shook my head gently.

"My name's Jack Frost." I almost jumped at the cold breath on my shoulder. "Hey, you're Emmett." He jumped enthusiastically on the balls of his feet, like he was a kid himself. "I've seen you make some _wicked_ snowballs at school, dude!"

"Jack Frost?" Emmett's jaw dropped, and his widened eyes turned to me. Wonder replaced the anxiety that had made his shoulders droop a second ago. "_You_ know Jack _Frost_?"

I had to giggle at his childish exaggeration. Jack replied for me: "Actually, she threatened me with a lamp only a few minutes ago," he admitted, a wicked smile flicking my way.

"She could kick your butt any day," Emmett said, crossing his arms. My shocked gaze met his stubborn one, but Jack laughed at the little guy's quick defence. "I have no doubt."

My smile was half-hearted. "You have _no_ idea."

Jack's smile turned to my little brother. "So, Emmett. You and I have to have ourselves a little snowball fight." One of Jack's eyelids dropped in a wink. "I think a snow day is in my agenda for tomorrow. We could drag your sister along," he said with a tricky smile in my direction.

"Dude! That would be so _cool!_" Emmett exclaimed, jumping up and down so his bare feet slapped against the floor.

"I hate to be Debbie Downer, you guys," I said, looking back at Jack, "but it's the middle of Alberta. In November. It's gonna take a hell of a lot of snow to get the schools to shut down."

"You underestimate my capabilities," he replied, bouncing a bit before standing upright. He smiled — not a sharp one, but a genuine one, sparkling with excitement. "Albertans may be hardy, but no one can resist this charming bundle of snow." He gestured to himself, wiggling his eyebrows in a very cheesy manner.

Emmett giggled, and a reluctant grin spread along my mouth. "You'd better be getting into bed," I poked Emmett. "Recharge your batteries for the epic-est snowball fight of your life."

Jack stood and ruffled Emmett's hair. "See you tomorrow, bud?"

"Uh, _yeah!_"

"Cool." Jack smiled at me over Emmett's head, bright teeth and bright eyes upturned under bright hair. He pointed to me with his staff. "I'm not done talking to you, yet."

"Diddo." My eyebrows twitched, wondering vaguely what kind of hallucination this counted as. "Bye, Frosty."

With a blatant look shot over his shoulder, he hopped out the window. But I could still see snowy hairs floating in a gentle breeze behind the glass panes.

I quirked an eyebrow, but it relaxed at one look at Emmett. He rubbed his eyes, yawning blandly, and Snowfie, his little white bear, dangled by his paw at his side. "Willow, I'm still scared. I had a nightmare. Daddy…" he trailed off, flicking his eyes down.

"You wanting a bedtime story?" was all I could manage, but he nodded thankfully, if a bit blearily.

Once we were all tucked under my sheets, Snowfie nestled comfortably between me and Emmett, I took a deep breath.

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy." Emmett's breathing steadied, and his nose found my shoulder. I watched the hairs just beyond the window wiggle a bit, like Jack was snuggling into the bit of roof that jutted out of my window. Like he wasn't going anywhere. "Not just any little boy. This little boy had the power to fly. He could fly up and above anywhere, as fast as he wanted. Even faster than a rocket.

"His best friend, a girl named, uh, Wilma - " I tried not to giggle at the first name that popped into my head, but Emmett did, so I snorted a little, too, " - could make anything out of anything. I mean, you could give her a roll of toilet paper, and BANG! She'd hand you a working model of the human body. So the little boy asked her to make him an invisibility cape, so he could go flying without anyone ever seeing."

"Why would he do that?" Emmett whispered, half drugged by sleep.

"There were evil scientists, sending spies everywhere, hunting for people with powers, like him and Wilma. He knew the evil scientists would want to duplicate what he had, and that meant they would cut him up into little bits to put under a microscope, and he was scared that they would do the same to his family, or to Wilma. He didn't like putting people in danger." I hesitated, but continued with a soft voice. "Plus, he had a better chance of not getting hurt if he stayed under the cape. If he stayed invisible.

"But, one day, the little boy was flying a bit too close to the sun. The cape caught on fire, and he had to take it off in midair. Unfortunately for him, it was so hot that his clothes caught on fire, too, and he lost concentration on flying. He fell toward the earth."

When Emmett didn't gasp, I knew he was asleep. I knew I could have stopped there, but I wanted to finish. Closure was kind of a necessity for me, in stories, anyway. In real life, though, I'd found that there was no such thing as closure.

"But just before he crashed into the sea, arms caught him in midair, and rose him into the sky. He was cold. So cold, he put out the fire burning holes in the boy's clothes. Because he'd lost his cape, he was able to make a new friend. One like him. He found that it was nice, being seen." My voice stopped when I smiled a little.

Suddenly, harsh noises shot under the crack in my door. My head snapped up at the mumbling voice, cuss words barely distinct.

Jason.

When the door slammed open, after a few floor-rumbling thumps, a huge splinter of wood skittered along the floor. I was standing, crouched and ready with the lamp stand back in my hand. I'd pulled Emmett into a standing position against my bed, and I pressed my body between them. Jason's stupid face, eyes as dark as Emmett's, leered in the doorway, his stupid yellow teeth exposed in a stupid, disgusting sneer. I could tell he was undressing me with his stupid eyes, so stupidly the same as his son's, roaming up and down my body. He was bigger than me by about a foot, and was about four times as thick. Not that he was fat, but he was stupidly built so he could drink and drink all day and still be ripped.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise as a complete sentence blasted across the room. "The fuck are you talking to?" He screamed so loudly, I could smell the alcohol on his breath, even from several feet away. I could usually tell what he'd been drinking, based on the pungency of his bellowed words, but tonight I was too busy trying to calm my breathing. I didn't want Emmett to panic, although I could feel his chest push against the small of my back rapidly.

"No one," I answered coolly. "Just Emmett. We're having a bedtime story." I mentally kicked myself for being so loud. Evening was _always_ the time Jason was up and about, and not collapsed somewhere on the floor in his room. This was always the time we had to stay most silent.

Then my heart collided with my stomach — he must've heard me and Jack.

I realized it just as he said it: "The fuck you were!" He staggered forward, and I pressed Emmett harder into my mattress. "If you're hiding a fucking boy in here, you bitch, I swear I will fuck you up so bad you won't remember your own name -"

"Does it _look_ like I'm hiding a guy in here?" _I couldn't keep a guy within a twenty-foot radius of me for three seconds,_ I thought mildly. _A normal one, anyway._ I rode on the hope that adults couldn't see Jack, or maybe that he left, but I didn't dare look around.

"You ssssmell like cum," he slurred. "Don't you dare lie to me, fucking hoe."

"You bastard," I spat, shaking my head slowly. "Your _seven-year-old _son is right here!" As I said it, I felt Emmett's nose poke into my back, like he could melt into me. I wished he could. Maybe then we could be braver, together.

"Not for long," Jason threatened. The flick of a pocketknife cut through the fear, threatening to crush both me and Emmett. "You both are fucking annoying. I'll deal with him after you, little hoe. Since you seem horny —"

He stumbled into the room, like some sort of human monster, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. His shadow slunk across the floor, the outline of his hands sliding up my legs. His real hands reached for me, but I clumped him against the wrist before he touched me. I swung it hard, as hard as I knew he'd swing his fists at Emmett. The crack was sickening, and he screeched as he fell backward. He breathed heavily against the wall, hatred searing in his stupidly perverted eyes. Blood bubbled from a shallow cut, but I knew I'd done more damage than it looked.

I wasn't done yet, though.

_This lamp is just as capable of manslaughter as any other blunt weapon._

As I ran for him, I screamed, but I didn't dare form words. They'd all be unthinkably scary to Emmett. Even without them, he flinched back, like he sensed the fear poking out from the shallow bravery I donned. I wanted to scream so much more, all of the anger that had built up in me since the day I'd been dropped off here, but I knew how much it would terrify Emmett. I knew that it would make him cower even more than Jason did. That's how it always worked. The ones you cared about were infinitely more scary than the ones you hated.

Jason's stupid eyes - Emmett's eyes, twisted and evil - darkened as I stood over him, and before his stupid mouth could open again, I brought down the lamp on his head - the crown of it, where I knew it would hurt the most. The sound and the shudders sent up my arms felt so good, it made me do it again. And again. With each _clump_, his body sunk lower against the wall, and I tried to not think about the blood pooling onto the floor. _He deserves it,_ a snide voice echoed in my head.

But it wasn't my voice. It was a man's voice, slick and soothing, with a hint of a British lilt.

In mid-swing, I dropped the lamp, letting it clatter against the floor, and stood in horror, staring at the mess I'd made. _This lamp is just as capable of manslaughter as any other blunt weapon._

His chest wasn't moving. It was only when I lifted my hands to my mouth that I realized that they were slimy with his blood.

I literally had blood on my hands. Literally and figuratively.

I'd killed him.

Emmett's little hands found me, encircling around my waist. I swiped my own on my shirt, then buried them in his hair.

"Oh my God," I choked. "Oh my God." The back of my hand pressed against my mouth. His little body quivered with sobs. "I'm so sorry, Emmett." I crouched, crushing him into a hug. "I'm so sorry."

"It was just like my bad dream." He sniffled. "He was gonna hurt us." The small voice, his clear bright voice, broke the heaviness of the room.

His voice.

It cracked, it was so burdensome. It wasn't the lightness that had always lifted my mood.

I'd taken his innocence away.

"I would never let that happen." I pulled back, cupping his chin in my hand, offering him a smile, even though it was as fake as the hope I was imprinting onto him. "I'm your butt-kicking sister, right?"

_More like head-smashing sister,_ I thought, holding back a revolted gag.

He nodded, smiling back. I knew how sick it was, to be smiling amongst all the blood, over a corpse, but it seemed better than crying over a body I wasn't sorry was dead.

"We're getting out of here." I stood, going over to my closet and grabbing my duffel bag. The one that had been everywhere with me. The one I refused to unpack. "Go and get your clothes on."

"But what about Mom?"

I yanked my PJ pants off, despite the presence of Jason's body and Emmett's little eyes, and jumped into a pair of jeans. I wanted to tell him that his mom didn't deserve his loyalty, after exposing him to this kind of slime. I wanted to tell him that she was as bad as Jason was, deluding herself into thinking that what she had was normal. That it was love. I thought of all the times she'd ruffled his hair, not responding to his pleas to look at something he'd done, or to sit down and read with him, but all he'd ever been to her — all he'd ever be — was an object. Never a precious someone to care for, or to help imagine crazy things.

Instead of smoothing everything over, which my head told me to do, I did what my heart told me and looked him square in the face. "She's been on her own since she married him, buddy."

At my sad tone, he twisted his features into a brave face. He nodded fiercely. Like the little tiger I knew he was.

I checked the clock on my bedside table. "T minus fifteen minutes, Emmett. Go and get dressed, and then I'll help you pack."

"Where are we going?" Emmett's little voice hardened.

I pulled a hoodie over my braid. "I don't know. But I'll figure it out."

I always do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okidoodle, let's get this show on the road!**

**Quite literally, as a matter of fact. ;)**

**Just about 100 views! Appreciate it!**

**I'm working on some more meat for people to chew on, but for now, here's a snippet. :D**

**DFTBA**

**doubtfulfig**

The paper crinkled louder than I wanted it to as I smoothed it out, but Emmett's head kept lolling against my shoulder, dead to the world. Orange light streamed across the map, tangoing with shadows as the Greyhound bus propelled itself onto the overpass. Sighing, slightly annoyed at the street lamps passing by my window, I brought out my phone. Its steady white light almost blinded me, after the muted street lamps and the darkness of midnight. I squinted at the red line labelled Hwy 1, and I soon found where it crossed overtop 22. My finger traced along it.

I'd been on this highway before. The TransCanada. Probably more than half of my life I'd spent on it, hitchhiking or bussing or being driven. Travelling. Running.

Now I was dragging Emmett into it.

My eyes kept wandering to the blood caught under my fingernails. It made me feel dirty. Dirty and ashamed. These hands, with dried blood crusted under the white crescents, dared to clutch at Emmett's. I felt like everyone could see it. But no matter how much I slid my teeth under them, I couldn't get it out. I wished I had mitts or something to cover it, but my tattered hobo gloves only went halfway up my fingers. So I folded up the map, tucking it back into my duffel bag, and curled my hands into fists.

I leaned back, staring out at the black night. Now that we were out on the highway, no light angled down at us - just stars staring down, stark naked and unafraid. That was one of the things I knew I'd miss about this small town: you could always see the stars. They'd even poke their way through clouds here, like we were the best audience, the most likely to give them a standing ovation.

Those same stars had watched us as we had trudged down our driveway and through back alleys. I lugged my duffel bag over one shoulder, and my backpack on the other. Instead of textbooks, a few items of Emmett's, a couple water bottles and a box of granola bars stuffed it to bulging.

Before leaving, I'd made sure to close the door to my room. I didn't know why. It wasn't like it contained Jason's death in that tiny little room. I knew Emmett would never be the same, and neither would I. Blood even seeped its way through the fissures in the hardwood, and under the crack in the door.

Emmett was my relentless little tiger. He didn't complain once when I told him he had to leave behind most of his belongings. Even his collection of Avengers action figures. He just stared me in the face, cupping a little Iron Man figure in his hands. "Now I'm going to be like Tony, looking after Pepper." He seemed taken aback when his voice didn't waver, but he went back to scribbling a note to his mom.

I didn't mention to him that it was Pepper, in the end, who saved Tony. That it was her who kept him going. Maybe because I didn't want him to realize it. But I wouldn't ever let myself forget it.

I let him take Snowfie, because, hell, even I had my stuffed cat, Cheetah, from when I was his age. She was shoved between my Macbook and my favourite T-shirt in my bag.

_I was his age. _Exactly_ his age. Seven years old._

Death can do stupid things to kids, but it was the fear from it that tended to really screw them up.

The note went onto the spotless counter, but I figured Jackie wouldn't even recognize the childish writing until morning. She'd be too busy flipping out about her husband to notice that we weren't in bed.

When we'd stumbled into the Greyhound station, it was almost eleven, and Emmett was almost falling over from exhaustion. My nose and my ears and my hands were numb; I figured that they were _this _close to falling off, and Emmett's little fingers must've felt the same way. The lady behind the counter didn't take a second glance when I bought a couple of seats on the next bus. It was only to Banff, and I knew my little sock of money wouldn't last long there, of all places, but I figured we could power sleep on the way there so we could just hop the next bus. I'd done it before.

Now, with Emmett's head flopping around at every bump, I pulled Oswald off of my head and tucked it under his cheek.

"Thanks," Emmett's soft voice mumbled.

"No prob." I tweaked his earlobe. "I'm sorry you don't get to have your snowball fight of epicness." The whole Jack Frost thing seemed too cheery, too far away to even be real. I must've been deluding myself into thinking that _Jack Frost_ of all people on this good earth would actually make me smile.

"That's ok," he mumbled in return. "I'm sorry my dad was a jerk."

"Hey, it's not your fault." My voice was sterner than I'd meant it. "It's no one's fault." _Just mine. This is all my fault._

"Thank you for saving me." His voice cleared a bit as he sat up. He seemed determined to keep me company, but it was almost one in the morning. He wouldn't last too long.

I smiled sadly at him. I could never say how sorry I was. The kinds of things this kid had been through made my stomach turn. Though he didn't realize it, I'd seen the bruises and cuts, running up and under the seam of his boxer shorts. His bastard of a father _had_ laid a hand on him. Both at once, I would assume. He just kept it discrete enough that I didn't see it, probably so I wouldn't bitch at him for it. I didn't know if killing a man counted as bitching at him. Whether or not it was, joke was on him.

"Are we going on an adventure?" he asked. His big eyes drooped a bit with sleep. "Like one you've had?"

I nodded. My braid shushed against the back of my coat.

"Are we going to have a new family?"

He didn't see the tear streak down my face, disappearing into my scarf, because his head plopped back onto my shoulder, smothering poor Oswald's felted face. I swallowed, but said "Yeah." I cleared my throat of the thickness.

"Am I gonna have as many families as you?"

"No. Just one more. The right one." I looked back out my window. "We'll find the right one this time." My promise fogged the glass.

Jack raced the wind, flipping around haphazardly as he approached the moon.

"Come on, Manny!" he shouted, laughing as the white orb emerged from behind the cloud he popped out of. No matter how close Jack ever got, the Man in the Moon insisted on tormenting him. He always stayed the same size. Remote, distant Manny, a little orb in the sky.

"Fine. Be that way. I'll just go and visit my new _friend_," Jack said, crossing his arms. No one answered, not audibly, but Jack knew what Manny was thinking. "And _no,_ she's not being a distraction. Her little brother is in need of some fun."

Without a second thought, Jack stopped climbing, and like the flick of a switch, hurtled Earth-ward. He angled his agile body to descend as sharply as he could.

He had to double-check that the house he was aiming for was the right one. He'd heard the sirens, but he'd just assumed they were downtown, like they always were. Until he saw the red and blue glow in the subdivision near the west end of town, he didn't think twice about it.

Now, it was all that filled his mind.

Dread seeped through his joints and burned his nose as he plummeted toward the ground faster, faster, so that his hood and his hair flew into his face. He couldn't pull up fast enough as he reached the ground, and he flew straight into a man with a sheriff's star, who'd unexpectedly jogged onto his destination.

Jack never got used to it. Even after 300 years, he couldn't help but breathe in sharply as a huge mass of blood and tissue passed through him. He had to remind himself to close his eyes as the guy's head passed through his own. Sometimes, Jack would catch glimpses inside people's bodies, like live working models of brains and the backs of eyeballs. He always figured he'd ace Biology, if he had to go now.

He shivered, trying and failing to shake it off, and followed the man into the house. There were policemen everywhere, clumped together with little notepads and walkie-talkies. A blonde woman with streaked mascara was crumpled in the front entryway. She had the moderate build of Emmett, with no resemblance to the, well, _willowy_ posture of Willow. But her face was so screwed up in body-wracking sobs, and it was covered with so much smeared makeup, he couldn't be sure if it was their mom or not.

_Oh, no…_ The image of Willow passing a gentle smile to the little boy flitted through his mind, and suddenly, all these adults didn't matter in the slightest to Jack. He fluttered up the stairs, bowling through the hulking men, skipping steps at a time to reach the top.

He stopped dead in his tracks, careful of the blood that flowed over the floor. It made the carpet of the stairs poky, stiff, flaking off red between his toes. His heart seemed to stop in his chest, forcing its way up his throat. The skitter of his staff against the wall made him adjust his grip on it - he didn't notice it slide from his hand, but all the policemen did. The random noise made them turn grim faces toward him, although they stared clear of his head.

With a gentle, if biting, breeze, Jack lifted himself off the ground, hopping the crime scene tape hastily stuck across the hallway, and he floated a few inches from the floor. No need to make footprints. He didn't want to freak out the cops too badly.

By the time he got to the room, he was almost flat against the ceiling. The smell of heavy copper made him gag, and he found himself breathing through the fabric of his sleeve. His eyes watered, so he gazed, frozen, at the shape against the wall.

The room was empty of people, except for one body.

A _dead_ body.

With his head smashed in.

Willow's lampstand lay tipped over, feet away. Jack's eyes stung with the smell of copper, since his dread wouldn't let him blink. Smeary red handprints entwined around the black finish of the steel. An open pocketknife lay near the door.

"What happened?" Jack croaked to no one in particular. The body didn't answer, so he let the wind jerk him out of the window, which no one had bothered to close.

That story Willow told, about the invisible boy… It gave him the horrible feeling that it would be hard to find them.

But he had to try. After all, he was a Guardian, right? Protecting kids was his job.

The wind sang in his ears, whistling a tune to occupy Jack's racing mind as he wheeled into the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hallow there, lovelies!**

**Let's get ready to RUMBLE!**

**I just had to ^^ :D**

**But seriously, this is where things get interesting (i.e. Jack Frost and Friends make a more permanent appearance ;)).**

**You know what, you three that reviewed my WIP? Thank you. Like, seriously. I don't know you, but I'd like to! It's really nice for me to know that my obsession isn't a waste of time, like people may actually enjoy what I'm writing. It's kind of a vulnerable thing for me to put out there. It's my baby. And I'm ****_so _****glad you enjoyed it. You just made it to the top of "The People DoubtfulFig Likes".**

**If you'd like to join said people who reviewed my baby, just R&R! :D**

**So, yeah, sit back, chillax, and... Yeah. **

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig**

**P.S. OH YEAH, I'M AHEAD OF SCHEDULE! So you *might* be getting another chapter today! Yay! Ok, I'll stop yapping, now.**

I wasn't even awake when it happened. I mean, it woke me up, but I didn't realize what had happened until I hobbled around in a haze, after the bus driver screamed and the crunch of metal and the mind-bending jerk and weightlessness and then the ground skidding beneath me. I didn't piece it all together until I stood upright, squinting in the dark at the strewn shapes across the snow: some jagged hunks of metal, some chairs free from the floor of the bus, which lay overturned on its side, roof ripped open. Some of the shapes were shaky outlines of crumpled and weeping people. Cars passing on the highway cast momentary light on the disaster, casting shadows that slunk across the snow.

The back of my nose burned, and my brain felt like it had major bruising from slamming into the forehead of my skull. I rubbed it ruefully, trying to clear some of the stars that shone behind my eyelids. "Emmett!" I called, but my voice was shaky, so I tried again, louder this time. I checked over my body, but everything seemed to be moving alright. Everything was just numb. Buzzing with disbelief or shock or something. But nothing was broken or bleeding.

"Will!" The little voice came from my left, from under something, and I was stumbling toward it when another mangled cry reached my ears, desperation ringing high and clear: "Willow, help! I'm stuck!"

"It's ok, buddy, I'm right here." I knelt beside the darkened outline of an object. A passing car exposed it in its headlights as our two seats, sitting there like a demented loveseat, then the light moved away. Another car revealed my duffel bag laying next to it, ripped open slightly, and Snowfie and Emmett's backpack poking from between the crack between the two butt cushions.

"No no, come on, Emmett," I said quickly as I heard his breathing hasten. I could hear the tears bubbling up his throat in little whimpers. I crouched down, pushing a hand under the metal skeleton, but I couldn't see a damn thing under there. "You're breathing ok?"

"Mhm," he sniffed.

"Anything hurt?"

"My leg."

I blanched. "Is it twisted?"

"I don't know." Another sniff. "I think it's kind of crushed."

My heart slowed, but I tried to think past it. "But your head and your chest are ok?"

"Yeah."

The whooshing sound of the cars rushing by didn't seem to be the most appropriate soundtrack for this situation. It made me agitated. Like at any moment, they could go careening off the side of the road and into us. Wouldn't that be lovely? Just _peachy._

"I'll get you out, Em, hold on," I murmured, pulling myself back up. I tried to topple it over to its side, but Emmett's whimpers morphed quickly into a scream, so I dropped it back down again as gently as I could.

He was sobbing now. Dread was crawling up my own throat, but I didn't want Emmett to know that. I swallowed it down, dropped to the ground again, then asked, "Was it your leg?"

The rustle of hair against snow. I guessed that he nodded. Then a quick intake of air. "Willow, something's got me."

"Nothing's got you, Emmett," I laid my head against the ground, thinking as fast as I could.

"Willow," his voice cracked with panic.

When the hell would the ambulance get here? "It's just numb, Em, you're letting your imagination get the best of you."

"Something's moving!" he sobbed. Like his poor little head couldn't take much more of this crap. He was so close to cracking.

"It's gonna be ok, buddy!" I murmured as quickly and reassuringly as I could. "It's nothing bad, it's just a… a mouse!" _Yeah, a mouse. Good choice, Willow._

"A mouse?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding, falling into the groove of my line of thought. "A mouse. Like Jaq and Gus, bustling around to help Cinderella. All right? They're gonna help you get out."

"Ok," he mumbled shakily, but I could tell he didn't really believe me. Neither did I, for that matter. But I was glad my explanation calmed him down a bit, and slightly relieved that I could come up with something. I threw on a smile, just in case Emmett could see me. "They're gonna help us."

_Wrong._

That voice. The slick one, the one that invaded my head when I… When Jason attacked. It slid through my head, just a split second before Emmett's piercing scream.

"_Emmett_!" It tore through my throat, but it didn't catch him. His screech echoed and faded, like he was falling down a hole, accompanied by frantic scratching and incoherent wailing words, and then there was nothing. Nothing but the crisp breeze and the hissing of highway-bound cars.

Before I could guess what the hell had just happened, another murmur swirled around my head uncomfortably: _Care to join our party?_

A strangled cry escaped my lips as the ground beneath my elbows fell in on itself, opening a gaping black hole. My upper body jerked downward, arms dangling into pitch darkness. I dug my toes into the snow, but I didn't get a good enough purchase to resist the pull of gravity. I slid forward and fell, bumping against the edges of the tunnel, and darkness seeped into my mind, pulling me out of consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hewo again, peoples,**

**Here it is! The moment you've been wai-ting for!**

**(Please tell me you sang that in Clopin's voice...?)**

**A WHOLE CHAPTER of the Guardians ;) There's a little bit of a retelling of events - I would've skipped a lot of it, but you know, I figured that what Jack would say about Will and Em says a lot. So yeah.**

**Enjoy! Again, please R&R :)**

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig **

* * *

_The Auroras are truly beautiful_, Toothiana thought as she made her way across the Northern Sky. _It's too bad they're only used when there's trouble. _

Her feathers glimmered with the Auroras, and for an instant, she felt just as mysteriously graceful. She always had felt that her twitchiness took away from her appearance, making her look too hollow-minded, like a hummingbird. But the Auroras were constant, moving slowly and deliberately, never making a harsh movement. They were powerful, and cold, and bold.

She wondered if Jack would notice her if she was more powerful, and cold, and bold.

* * *

"Ack, it's freezing!" Bunnymund exclaimed loudly, to no one in particular. The snow swirled around him, but never touched him. How considerate. It seemed to make room for him as he bounded through the drifts of snow, upward into his secret tunnel that opened up into North's workshop. He wondered bitterly why he never just tunnelled directly into North's office. _Sure would be nice to feel my toes,_ he thought as his feet plowed through the powdery snow, leaving a deep trench as he bolted. _I can't even see the bloody Auroras through this blasted blizzard. This had better be good._

* * *

His sand moved through the air at an unwavering pace, like a great whale in the open blue. Sandman kept his eyes to the North, where the Auroras twisted and curled in shimmering splendor. He'd always liked them. Things with gentle beauty such as this should be admired by everyone forever, in his humble opinion. He drew his hands together, urging the golden sand faster, and it swirled madly to keep up with Sandy's pace.

* * *

"Ok, North, what's happening?" Jack crouched, perched delicately on his staff. He crossed his arms, fingers drumming restlessly against the insides of his elbows.

"No telling yet." North, huge and kind of intimidating, with his tattoos and thick accent and big burly arms, hunched over his desk. His beard trailed along the papers collected there, bold black lettering splotching up the parchment.

"Come on. I was busy. There're these kids… I think they're in trouble." Jack ran his hand through his icy white hair. His wintry eyes were scrunched by his dark eyebrows. "You can't tell me you called us here because of your belly."

North didn't seem to process what Jack had said about the kids in trouble — instead, he jumped to the defence of his belly. "I feel something," he insisted loudly, making his hands into fists. "Is making me uncomfortable."

"Oh, boy," Jack murmured, pulling the staff from underneath of him. He floated gently to the ground, and padded towards North with ever silent bare feet. Past his enormous figure, Jack could see the Auroras dancing, thick bands of purple and green intertwining and unfurling simultaneously. "North, just because you had a few too many cookies, doesn't mean you have to call all of the Guardians to make you feel better." He twirled his staff with one hand and shoved his other into the pocket of his hoodie, trying not to think about the glassy eyes that had stared at him blankly only an hour before. He was just about to search for Willow and Emmett, but the Auroras had interrupted his investigation. _Duty calls, _he'd thought as he had adjusted his course to the North. Tearing him away from the kids who might need him more than North would.

"Is not tummyache," North muttered in return, standing straight at the sight of Sandman's cloud of gold through the glass window. "Is something bigger."

Jack spun 180º and started meandering the opposite way toward the door, trying to taunt an actual response from the Cossack. "Ok, you're not in a very good mood, so I'll just wait for you in the globe room."

"Jack."

He turned his head, and for the first time since he triggered the Auroras, North faced him, making eye contact. His rosy cheeks did nothing to dilute the distress in his usually jolly eyes, which was Jack's first real sign that something was wrong. Really wrong.

"Tell elves to make cocoa. It will be long night."

Jack nodded slowly, and made his way out of his office.

* * *

"Ok, ok," North boomed, gesturing to the Yetis to pull up the various armchairs around the balcony that made up the globe room. "I am sorry to gather you all like this, but is urgent."

An evil looking smile was creeping up the Pooka's fuzzy face, twisting the dusty marks on his ashen forehead. A long hind leg reached up to scratch behind his ear. It was still numb from the bloody snow he'd trudged through only a few moments ago, so he held it up to the fireplace crackling between the two grand windows. The black outside was looming, only interrupted by the swirling bits of white. "What, mate? You feel it in your belly?" Bunny asked with a twinge of sarcasm.

"_WHY_ is this such hard concept for you people?" North asked defeatedly, lifting his hands and sinking his butt into a red armchair. Shaking his head, he muttered grumpily to himself in Russian and planted his face in his huge hand.

"Uh, no thanks, Phil, I'm good," Jack murmured to the eager Yeti, bouncing around behind the uncomfortable looking armchair he had pulled up behind him. As Jack leapt up onto his staff, planted his butt, and dangled his legs, Phil deflated.

"North, what is it?" Tooth implored concernedly. Her wings stopped fluttering and she dropped into a particularly fluffy armchair.

"It is Pitch." His eyebrows, dark and thick, raised in seriousness. His wide eyes were filled with something other than wonder. "He is up to something, something worse than last time."

"Come on, mate." Bunny hopped as a Yeti pushed a chair under his airborne behind, and he sank into it easily. "We took care of 'im. He's gone, taken by his own fear."

"You can never kill fear, Bunny." North's glare was incredibly harsh, for such a normally jovial man, and the bags under his eyes showed how uncharacteristically weary he was. "Anyway, I have asked Man in Moon to look into it, and I expect he will answer in day or two."

"Unbelievable," Jack snorted, shaking his head at North's nonchalant mention of talking to Man in the Moon. "This would have been handy for me, like, 300 years ago."

North held up his hand up to silence Jack before he really got going. "Handy or not, we must remain vigilant," he murmured. "The children, I fear, are in danger once again."

"Then we'll do all we can to make sure they stay safe," Tooth said reassuringly, placing a dainty hand on North's expansive mitt. He gave her a small smile under his beard, but it didn't reach up to his eyes. They remained dark and downcast.

"Heyheyhey," Bunny thumped his foot on the leather cushion, his eyes locked on the skylight above their heads. "Forget a day or two, Moonie's dropping in now."

Jack lifted his feet slightly, wiggling his toes, and straightened up slowly. He always did that when curiosity got the best of him. The wandering thoughts of the slumped body against the wall back in Alberta dissipated. He'd never seen the Man in the Moon actually communicate. He'd only ever heard his name come from that pearlescent orb of light.

He had expected something loud, something obvious, but when has the Moon ever been anything but silent? The white light cut through the stark black night, muffled a bit by the snow busily whirling around. Through the glass roofs, still boasting the bluey-green leftovers from the Auroras, the Moon's rays filtered down, sharpening at an angle that struck the circle at the centre of the floor. Responding obediently, the Moonstone pulled itself from its hiding place in the ground. The light hit the Moonstone in a way that sent it sprawling throughout the rest of the room. It was a gentle thing, the moonlight, just a sort of crystalline glow spread through the room. But, within the stone, sharp shadows depicted a clear silhouette.

"Pitch." Jack touched the floor with his feet, lithely dropping from his perch.

"The belly is never wrong!" North exclaimed, exasperated, but no one was listening, so he just sat forward on his chair, as did the rest of the Guardians. Jack's eyes narrowed as he observed his friends' reactions to the Moon's news: Sandy's face was set like stone — after all, he had more reason than most to despise the Bogeyman — and Tooth's violet eyes darkened as her hands balled into delicate little fists. Baby Tooth was twitching around violently, twittering, and Bunny just sat there, paws twitching, Jack could only assume, for his boomerangs, which were strapped to his back as per usual.

"What is he doing?" Jack asked the Moon, craning his neck to look up. He expected the Moon to ignore him, to wait for someone else to ask, as it always had, but to his surprise, an image formed above the stone, a sort of hologram of moonlight. It shimmered, like static, before it formed fully: the shape of a human. Shadows, silhouettes of spiky hair and narrow shoulders slinked across her figure.

Jack shook his head slightly, not understanding. "It's a girl."

"Not just a girl," Tooth murmured uneasily. Her wings were quivering. "A teenager."

"Ok, so?" Jack shrugged, crossing his arms around his staff.

"You see, mate," Bunny explained, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "teenagers are out of our reach. They're children who stop believing. They're basically adults."

Jack rocked back on his feet, gesturing imploringly to the image of the girl. "Well, if he has a hold of her, that means she can see him, and that means she believes. And if she believes, it's our job to protect her, whether or not she's a teenager. Right?" He pressed his hands to his chest, running them along the crisp frost accumulated on the front of his hoodie.

"Of course, Jack," Tooth said soothingly. Sandy nodded, cracking his knuckles audibly, which brought a wry smile to Bunny's face. "But you realize what Pitch is trying to imply, right? He's going beyond the minds of the children." She lifted from her seat, floating closer to the Moonstone.

"He's going after the whole world now." North stood, joining Jack next to the girl's figure. Long curls fell over her face, which was splashed with freckles. Her thin frame was hunched, as if against a wall. Jack joined North, reaching out to touch the image. He flicked his fingers, and the girl responded by spinning, as if on a turntable, so everyone could see her face and the jeans and T-shirt that were so ripped, so violently torn, they were basically nonexistent.

Then something clicked, making his eyebrows go slack. He didn't recognize her before. Not without that fierce flicker in her eyes, in reality, that he'd seen earlier. The girl in the image just looked dead, eyes glazed over and blank.

"Wait… Wait, that's Willow."

Jack flicked his eyes toward North, who returned the gaze evenly. He crossed his arms over his heaving chest.

"You know her?" Tooth asked. Her wings involuntarily beat faster, lifting her a few inches higher off of the ground.

Jack nodded violently, hair flopping down into his eyes. He stared at the figure. "I met her and her brother today."

"Well?" Bunny hopped out of his seat, anxiously awaiting an explanation. His ears lay flat against the top of his head.

"Ah…" Jack ran a hand down the back of his head. He didn't know how to explain. Where do you start with something like this?

A big hand thumped down on Jack's shoulder, almost buckling his knees. The thick golden rings encircling its thumb dug kind of uncomfortably into his collarbone. North's voice was gentle, though his hand was not. "What happened, Jack?"

Jack's mouth set into a thin line. He plopped down into the chair Phil had left there for him, like the Yeti knew he'd need it eventually, and passed a hand over his eyes. "I was just goofing around. I was working on a snow day, and, you know, it takes more than a few drifts of snow to make schools in Alberta to close during the winter."

Bunny scoffed. He knew only too well how those rednecks stood up against the cold. Despite Jack's numerous attempts to freeze over Easter there, kids would be out there in their puffy little snowsuits, digging eggs from under snowdrifts.

"I was blowing snow and ice and everything all day. I saw her then. At first, she didn't catch my eye. She was just one among the crowd of teachers and parents and students. There were so many kids, and so many adults just _asking_ to be humiliated…" Jack's mouth lifted cheekily at the thought of their professional stuff and their professional postures sprawling frantically as they tried to gain balance on a skiff of ice. "Anyways, it was her hat and her brother that made me stop to look. It was a ski hat, with little felted eyes and a nose and little pointy ears poking up from the top, to make her head look like an owl. It was completely _dorky_. No one else had anything like that. Just boring black and kids running around with your typical ski jacket and pants thing. But she was individual, and _alone_, and... honestly didn't seem to care.

"And her brother, Emmett. I'd watched him in school before. He was the wild card. He was always coming up with new ideas that no one really seemed to care about. I mean, he would play around outside with the other kids, but he didn't seem…" Jack shrugged. "I don't know. He wasn't really into it.

"He was clipping along towards her so fast I knew he'd slip or something, but instead, Willow did. All she did was turn." Jack wondered vaguely how anyone could be so klutzy. Just a swivel of her feet sent her straggling. But he just said, "I caught her before she hit her butt, though."

"So what, mate? Doesn't sound like trouble to me." Bunny crouched before Jack's seat on all fours, like a true rabbit. A gangly, angular, humanesque rabbit.

Jack ignored Bunny's annoying comments and pressed on. "I followed her to work. I mean," he laughed loosely, "it's hard to ignore a hat like that. I went in after her - it was a really weird mix of boring office supplies and _awesome_-looking toys - and I didn't think she'd see me, so I just yapped away. I was just joking around. I didn't think she'd actually hear me."

"She did?" Tooth's voice was a sort of inhalation, like a gasp.

Jack nodded, raising his eyebrows. "I was just as surprised as you. But I followed her home. She tried to attack me with a lamp, and she looked like she knew what she was doing."

Bunny chuckled. "I'd'a loved to be in her shoes."

"It was weird. She believed, obviously, but she didn't know who I was. But as soon as I said it, she just accepted it. She didn't get into denial, or try to clobber me out of the window. She just…"

North's eyes met Sandy's. If anyone would understand this, it was the Guardian of Dreams. But the little man's eyes reflected his own confusion, and he shrugged with a question mark floating above his head.

North's dark eyebrows almost melded together as he crossed his arms. "So what happened, Jack?"

"Emmett came into the room. I think he thought I broke in to hurt Willow or…" Jack shook his head, confused. "I don't know. But he seemed set on saving her." _Poor little guy._ "Of course, when I introduced myself, he was fine — I promised him a snowball fight," he remembered with a smile, "but when I hopped out the window, I just sat there under the sill, listening. He'd had a nightmare. Something about… Something about his dad, or something." Jack's hand filtered through his hair absently. "But Willow sat and told him a story. One about a boy who could fly.

"I went back to work, then, on that snow. I mean, now I promised Emmett a snow day, I had to deliver," he said with a soft chuckle. "But when I went back, there were sirens and policemen and everything. Willow and Emmett weren't anywhere, and there was…" Jack's eyelids flitted a little, trying to think of anything, _anything_ besides that blank stare, or that tinny smell of blood. "There was a body. In Willow's room."

"Waddya mean?" Bunny sat up a bit straighter. The room seemed to tense — Sandy floated up a few inches, North's eyebrows lifted and froze, and the flutter of Tooth's wings slowed, lowering her to the ground gently.

"I mean it was dead." A hand lifted to Tooth's mouth with a little gasp. Jack had to swallow. "His head was smashed in. It looked like… Like Willow'd used her lamp to do it."

There was a second of stunned silence, of wide eyes and sidelong glances. Then Jack jerked a bit, realizing how twisted that made Willow sound, and he started backtracking quickly. "No, no! He had a pocketknife. He must've done something terrible for her to have to do something like that. I mean, she didn't clobber _me_, and I was the stranger busting into her room."

"_Why…_" North said slowly with a sort of disgusted twist of his lip, "would she ki-… Why would she do something like that to her own father?"

"I don't know. All I know is, she's out there, and so is Emmett, and Pitch is doing who-knows-what, and it's our duty to help them." His jaw set, and he looked past the faces of his fellow Guardians to the Moonstone. "That's _all_ I need to know," Jack said decidedly, using his staff like a pole vault to lift himself toward the window. "Bunny, you coming?"

"What, mate?"

"You coming?" Pushing on the glass with his back, he sat on the sill until the pane popped open. The cold air welcomed Jack's bare foot as he slung it over the sill. "You too, Sandy? We don't have time to waste."

"Hold up, there, Frostbite." Bunny stepped forward, speaking in a calming sort of tone. His paw shook a little as he held it out. "We don't know where this girl is, mate. We need to come up with a plan, don' we?" He looked to Tooth, who nodded strongly in agreeance.

Exasperated, Jack looked past Bunny to the Sandman. "Sandy?"

Sandman's glance bounced from Jack to Bunnymund to North. He rocked on his feet anxiously, and all he came up with was a question mark, shimmering above his head.

Jack nodded, smirking in disbelief. "Fine. Fine, you guys stay here, and try and figure out what Pitch is up to." He let a breath of wind lift him from the sill, allowing him to hover just outside. "I'm going to save them."

"Now, Jack, just wait one moment -" North began, but Jack cut him off.

"You don't understand, North!" he exploded, snow swirling violently around his grim face. North's words caught in his throat, his hand stopped in midair at Jack's sharp words. "You don't get it! They're trapped, they're afraid, and there's no one there to help them. I know what that is." He nodded curtly at the four pairs of wide eyes. He tried to ignore Tooth's teary ones, and said, "Summon me once you know something."

And he was gone, one snowflake among many.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hewo there, peoples!**

**Mkay, so this is how my logic works: I haven't read the books, so I'm sorry if I get histories or names or anything twisted to the point of offence. OK? I've just watched the movie, and skimmed through a couple other RoTG FanFics, but that's really it. I'm basically making things up as I go. So if facts surrounding OC's histories are kind of skewed, or if you actually ****_can't_**** summon the Guardians, do me a favour and just go with it. K? Awesome sauce.**

**Here we go! Had an AMERZING day of just ****_writing_****, which was perfect. Plus, I get to post yet ANOTHER chapter for y'all!**

**Okidoodle, that's all I have to say. :D**

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig**

* * *

Suddenly, I needed to breathe.

The darkness never told me that I needed air.

It had protected me, kept me safe.

And now that I saw the moon, its light shone on things I never knew.

He told me to breathe.

So I did.

Cold air cracked in my lungs, in through my goopy throat. It cleared my head, opened my eyes.

I couldn't really see anything. Nothing had changed, then. This maniac, whoever he was, kept everything shrouded in shadows, including himself. I could hear his insane laugh, the kind that made your shoulders draw up to your ears, made you curl up in a corner and try not to cry — yet I never saw him. Every once in a while, I'd see his shadow descend the stairwell before my cell, and I'd stand, despite my weak legs, and I'd brace myself for his gloating speech - every evil guy has one, right? - but by the time the base of his shadow reached the bottom, he wouldn't be there. Only his laugh.

I pulled the worn blanket closer around my shoulders. My shirt and my jeans left me embarrassingly naked, my favourite aqua bra showing clearly through Mickey Mouse's head.

That made me smile. God, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd smiled. I didn't even care if it drew a few tears. Before everything, Mom had always said that it was typical of me. Dressing mundane and seeming drawl and boring, but underneath it was hidden something crazy, something vibrant and _bright._

Then I noticed it.

I was cold.

My entire stay here, however long it had been, had never been cold. Never hot, never cold, just right. I'd never needed the blanket except to comfort me, or to cover myself when I thought this guy would come to see me. But tonight, I was shivering. From my bare shoulders to my bare toes, goosebumps were rising. I wondered vaguely if this was a new form of torture the guy would use on me.

I wished the cowardly bastard would just show his face. Just once, so I knew what I was afraid of.

Instead, all I got was dancing shadows, cast by no light, and cackling that kept me awake.

I sniffed, maybe a bit too loud, because he started to laugh again. I curled up against myself, using my hair as a buffer between me and the rugged ground. I tried to sleep, but it was getting to the point where I could no longer tell what was happening behind my eyelids and before them.

* * *

Jack stood above the spot, circling slowly. He knew this place - the clearing where the tunnel had been. The broken bedframe that guarded the entrance was no longer there, however, and neither was the tunnel. It was just a deserted sandy patch amongst a million trees.

He'd been everywhere. On top of mountains, both the Poles, he'd even braved a close shave to the equator. He had to let Tooth or Bunny take over from there, since the temperate weather bit at his skin, as if he'd been shoved in a giant microwave.

But no where had there been any sign of the kids. Just days of searching, wasted - and for all Jack knew, it could've been their last days.

He'd only come here as a last resort. Because he _knew_ it: Pitch'd long since relocated.

"URH!" He screamed, days of containing his frantic frustration tearing up his throat, and he punched a tree trunk nearby. Despite his anger, he had to flinch as it toppled over as hoarfrost ate away at its bark, and made its way to its core.

The moon, nearly invisible in the pale early morning light, poked its face over the treeline.

"Oh, what now?" Jack floated upwards, willing the updraft so he could drop onto an extended deciduous branch. "_What_?!" Jack's timbre cracked, he yelled so loud, and a few songbirds erupted from the tree beneath him.

He tried to steady his breathing, _in through the nose, out through the mouth_, and he paced across the beam of wood, grasping his shepherd's hook so his white knuckles went yellow.

Finally, after a crisp breath through his nose, he leaned against the rod of his staff and glared up at Man in Moon, trying to convey everything he was feeling. "Look... I know you haven't taken to talking to me. That's fine. But you have to understand... when I was most alone, you brought me to the Guardians. You gave me friends. A family." He sighed, swinging his leg around. "I really want to say that's the reason I need to save her — them — but honestly, I don't really _know_ why." He stared up, searching frantically for some sort of sign of acknowledgement. "Maybe it's my Guardian instinct kicking in." When nothing laughed at his chilled joke, he sighed. "All I know is, they're alone, and scared, and I need to help them. They're children, right? Both of them believe. So I need to protect them. And I need you to tell me _how._"

"Wuzzamatta, Frostbite?"

_Pitch. _Jack's face settled into a snarl as he whirled downward onto the voice, feet away from the tree he'd knocked over. Only after he had him pinned to a trunk with his staff, breathing hard, did he realize it was Bunny, ears flat against his head in an unexpected adrenaline rush.

"Easy there, mate," he said calmly. The corner of his mouth turned up in a small grin. "I know you don't hate me all that much."

"Sorry," he mumbled, flicking his staff away. "I thought you might have been him."

"Ah." Bunny stood, bouncing nimbly on his hind legs. He brought one up to scratch behind his ear, musing, "Anger, anxiety, jumpiness. I'd know it anywhere. This is a case of love at first sight, am I right?"

"What?" Jack took to wandering aimlessly in a circle.

"Oh, you know." He examined his fuzzy paw, expertly avoiding Jack's gaze, which was scorching enough to melt an ice cube. "Saving the damsel in distress might win her love, am I right?"

"What? No!" Jack struck the ground with his staff, sinking it into the ground. Frost laced outward around the rod, stiffening the sand into hard-packed earth. "It's our duty to protect, Bunny. These two need us more than any other kid of the face of the planet does right now. I know it." He spoke deliberately, glaring defiantly at the silent Pooka. "You didn't see them. The way Willow just assumed I was there to hurt her. And Emmett…" Jack shook his head. "I don't know. But I do know that before, Pitch only played with the mind. He never caused any _real _harm. Just nightmares, right? But he also only played with kids. But everything..." He looked toward the darkness. "Everything about this is different. He's crossing a line."

Bunny didn't say anything for a while. Just watched Jack as he curled his slender fingers into his palms, then relaxing them just as slowly. His frosty shoulders were hunched, making him look even more slinky than usual.

He knew Jack wasn't talking about both of them. So what was it about this girl, this particular girl, that made him so defensive? This wasn't the Jack Bunny knew. This was a fierce protector, not a fun-loving trickster.

This must be important to him, to change him like that.

"What do you need me to do, mate?" he asked quietly.

"The tunnel." Jack twisted the staff until it broke free, sending little frosty grains of sand airborne. "It's not here. He's moved, somewhere else."

"Well, if it's a tunnel you're after," Bunny stood up straight, coming up behind the distraught boy, "you summoned the right Guardian."

Jack shook his head. His eyebrows levelled over his eyes in bewilderment. "I didn't summon you."

"Aw, mate." He smiled brazenly when Jack turned to face him. "The tree."

Jack glanced over Bunny's shoulder at the tree he'd knocked over. It was practically shredded by the frost he'd inflicted on it.

"Tap any tree, and BANG, I'm here." He nodded proudly, ears wobbling from the movement. "And you did a bit more than tap it, mate."

"Heh." Jack ran a hand down the back of his neck. A sort of sheepish grin, spreading slow and steady, brought the normal Jack's brightness back into his tired face. "Yeah."

Bunny laid a paw heavily on Jack's shoulder, raising Jack's eyes to his viridescent ones. The grey was soft, for once, not sharp with the idea of a new trick. Open, and willing.

"Now," Bunny said, tapping his foot on the ground. The sand fell in on itself, falling concave into a neat circle that lead to somewhere that no one could see. "Let's hunt this guy down."

* * *

_Ok, yeah. I've officially lost my mind._

Someone was whispering.

But no one was around.

_Do you believe in the Bogeyman?_

Maniacal laughter.

It was always there.

Yet there was no face.

Just shadows, slinking across the bars of the cell, blocking some light that didn't exist.

The shadows and the dark exposed more than the Moon's pale light did. I found myself bunching the blanket up and around my front. This creep would see no more than what I wanted him to see.

_Emmett. _The thought came to me in a gut-wrenching blow. And it didn't want to leave. How selfish was I, worried about myself, when Emmett was out there, in his grasp… I imagined him somewhere like this, curled up in a corner all alone.

This was all my fault. My forehead rammed itself into my palms.

Then the voice bounced off the walls, and around inside my head. I tried to keep my cool, but no sooner did I get a grip on myself, the laughter got louder, and instead of floating around, it seemed to concentrate, materialize, right in front of me.

For a moment, I couldn't tell if I was still staring at shadows, slight variations of darkness, but the moment those glowing eyes appeared feet from where I crouched, I knew it was him. His cloak, blacker than night, faded evenly into his grey forearms, like it was... a _part_ of him. Black spiked from his head, combed back from his face to reveal cheekbones you could cut yourself on, and his lips, barely distinctive, curled back over pointed teeth. He was like a black-and-white photograph, with grey skin and shadowed features.

Except for those eyes. They could cut into your skin, cast the shadows away from your deepest secrets. I fumbled with the blanket, wishing I had some clothes that didn't suck at being clothing, as he moved toward me. His cloak covered his legs, and he didn't bounce, like one would when walking. It was like he melded into the ground. He just floated forward, slowly, the cloak not really ending at a hem line.

I could see his chest shake, like he was chuckling, but the sound came in waves, from my left, then the right, then behind. It closed me in, but I didn't flinch. I only panicked in my mind. I kept my eyes glassy.

He crouched, taking my chin roughly in his hands. It felt like the sun had suddenly vanished, leaving my face in dank shadow.

"Boo." His breath was like death. Warm, putrid death. But the single word had no effect on me. There was nothing this creep could do to make me more terrified than I already was.

But he wasn't going to know that.

"Who the hell are you?" My voice came out, although my faith in it wasn't entirely all there. To my satisfaction, it sounded defiant.

He cocked his head to the side, a sinister smile sliding across his face. "Your worst nightmare."

He let go of my face, jerking my head backwards so it cracked against the wall. I didn't groan, although the pain that exploded at the back of my head blossomed down my neck like a searing liquid.

"To be precise, I suppose, you could call me the Bogeyman. Most people do. Although," he flicked his eyes back to mine, "the more important people call me Pitch. Pitch Black."

"Too bad for you, I'm not..." I had to breathe deeply, clearing the stars from the back of my eyelids, "...afraid of the dark."

"Aren't you? What a shame," he pouted, clasping his hands as he straightened. His voice was like quicksilver, smooth and silky, with a heavy English accent. I had to admit, it was impressively practiced in the art of inflicting fear. "Ah, well. I can try, at least."

With a snap of his fingers, all definite lines disappeared. All I could see was black. No dancing shadows, no moving dark. Just black. Even the Moon had been snuffed out.

His laugh filled the air again, thick, spreading everywhere in billowing waves. "How about now, dear?"

"Mmm, nope." I wondered vaguely, through the fog in my head, if this was what it was like to be dead. If it was, it wasn't so bad. I could close my eyes and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between dreams and reality.

"Drat. You teenagers don't know how to have any fun." His face loomed suddenly before me, like he had stepped into light from shadow. "You don't know how to _believe_ in fear."

"I don't follow." I rubbed the back of my neck. It was wet, and when I pulled my hands back, they came away sticky.

"Oh, sorry. I forget, you're... well... _different._" He stepped to the side, beginning a circle around me.

"What else is new."

"I know what you're thinking, dear child. I'm just a figment of your ample imagination." He chuckled at that, because for some reason, he found that funny. He was gesturing delicately with his slender grey hands. "Well, let me give you a little hint, darling. Is _this_ just another nightmare?"

All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. It wasn't - I couldn't - the air, it wouldn't come. Instead, what felt like sand flooded my nostrils, and my mouth when I opened it in a silent gasp. It dropped into my lungs, filled my stomach, and I tried to cough it up, but when I did, it would lodge in my throat, clogging it with the thick sweetness of cough syrup, and all I could think of was his laugh, it's gonna kill me, oh, _God_, why is this happening, why, why, just STOP, just make it end, ohgodohgod i'm gonna die it's over-

Just as suddenly as it had started, it ended. Cold air filtered through my raspy throat, and I couldn't drink it up fast enough. I could still feel the sand, or whatever it was, condense and rise whenever I breathed. It made me cough, but it wouldn't come up in the phlegm I gagged on.

"Oh, poor dear." The outline of his face danced on the outskirts of my vision, past the limits of the stars sparkling in the dark. Or maybe it was just my eyes. "How cruel of me."

"Why?" I rasped. Weird noises I associated with throwing up were emerging from my throat when I opened my mouth, so to keep myself from humiliate myself further in front of him, I promptly closed it.

"You ask why I do this to you?" He shrugged. He kept circling me as he continued, "Ah, well. Might as well tell you. It'll pass the time.

"You see, dear, I'm not the only one of my kind. There are other spirits, other beings who are not - ah, how do I say this? - made of the same cloth as you humans, I suppose. We are immortal, and we thrive on the things we were made to. Ah, yes," he smiled, waving his hand in the air to my left. A pale orb appeared in front of me, hovering amongst the black, exposing everything, exposing nothing. "We were made. The Man in the Moon, many call him. Quite fitting, I'd say. He sees everything, knows everything, and he is what summons spirits like myself into being in this world. A few you've heard of, no doubt."

As he spoke, the moon warped, deepening into a rosy-cheeked man with a long white beard sprouting slowly from his chin. His wide blue eyes sparkled, under flaring darkened eyebrows, and as he opened his mouth to laugh, his two front teeth elongated, and suddenly I was looking into the face of an ashen rabbit, with distinctive markings running along the dark bushes of fur that served as eyebrows. His eyes were strong, a flickering green that could either be as hard as stone, or lively and warm like spring. As I thought it, they flashed violet, the sort of purple you associate with hummingbirds. Which made sense, as the face morphed into a human one, yet the twitchy green and yellow feathers that adorned her head told me she wasn't quite human. Just as quickly as feathers grew, they receded, and in their place hair sprouted that appeared like it had just been through a windstorm in a desert. A wide, smiling face beneath it, yellow and beaming.

I knew who these were before Pitch spoke. They were all just names I'd almost forgotten in the frenzy my life had become in the past few years. But the last face was familiar. I'd actually had a conversation with this one. Pale skin, angular features, an icy-white tuft of hair that stuck up every which way. Grey eyes that I figured seemed to be the only thing that wasn't cold about his appearance, yet they were just as sharp as the angles of his jawline. They sparked almost violently as half of his thin mouth curved upward in a rather charming, if somewhat sharp, grin.

"Nicholas St. North," he spoke softly with each change, "E. Aster Bunnymund, Toothiana, Sanderson. _Jack Frost_." Bitterness stung each of the words, twisting them into something resulting from hatred and fear. _So they had a past,_ I thought dryly as he continued: "The Guardians who watch over all the children of the world. They protect their hope, their wonder, their joy, and they always make sure that _fear_ doesn't bring harm to them." He scoffed loudly as the image of Jack's blinding smile was taken over by a sweeping mass of darkness. "You see, dearest, as long as children believe, they live. And only those who believe can see them."

"What does this have to do with me?" I croaked, breathing around the sandstorm rising in my lungs.

"Everything," he spat, whirling to face me. "Too long have I lived in the shadows, too long have I gone unnoticed. How many times have you heard it said, 'There's no such thing as the Bogeyman'? How many more children can you imagine don't believe in me?" His words flared angrily. "Children everywhere dismiss me. They do not see me." He glided toward me, reaching out for my face. "Except for you. You, dearest, seem to have a special place in your heart for fear."

I didn't respond. I only glared at him as I struggled to breathe through the mass of sand settled in my breathing organs.

"You are _special_, don't you see?" he spoke softly, running a finger along my cheek. I resisted the urge to bite it - not because it looked delicious, but because I wanted to draw creepy blood from his grey skin. "You are obviously not a child..." His eyes ran me up and down, eyebrow muscles twisted weirdly. "And yet, you still believe."

I bit my response down, keeping it with the sand in my gut.

"You will be proof to the Guardians that no longer am I limited to children's fears..." He stood straight, running his tongue over his lips. "...But instead, I can reach into the minds of _everyone._ And not only their minds can I harm. Oh, no. You witnessed that for yourself. And still you will." He chuckled, shoulders shaking in sick amusement. "So enjoy it here, while you can. In your last few hours on your own, I can't imagine what you might want to do. But don't imagine there will be an escape." With a sneer, he turned, walking into a deeper dark. "You will be my example."

"Wait…"

At my rasped cry, he turned his head a little.

"Emmett." I swallowed hard, but it didn't stop the coughs from wracking my chest. "What did you do to him?"

A smile pressed his pointed chin toward his neck. "You'll know soon enough."

And just like that, he was gone, although his insane laugh was still lingering. My surroundings sunk back around me, materializing into vague shapes and forms. I curled up against myself. No matter how I sat, the weight in my lungs and in my stomach wouldn't sit comfortably. Breathing stirred it, sending grains airborne and up my throat. My breaths rattled, and they _hurt._

I was wrong.

Dying felt much different than soft darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

"This is it, Frostbite," Bunny murmured, his voice echoing uncomfortably loud in his tunnel. The green turf the warren tended to leak into his tunnels shone with the hope and light of spring, but a wooden sort of manhole blocked the pair of Guardians from proceeding. It was loosely boarded with cracking slats of wood, that looked as if it had been through the fires of hell. When Bunny tapped on the wood solidly with his hind paw, it fell away with minimal cracking noises.

"Thanks, Bunny." Jack clasped his staff firmly, and with a breath it began to glow blue, extending his range of sight. The tunnel into Pitch's lair didn't look too inviting. It was dark and winding, and that never tended to lead to anything good.

"Mate, listen here," Bunnymund clasped Jack's shoulder. He knew he would only listen for a limited amount of time before rushing off to do whatever it was he felt he needed to do — already he could see that Jack's attention was spread thin into so many different directions — so he kept it brief. "Pitch will be ruthless. Don't be proud — call us if you need us."

Jack nodded solemnly. When Bunny didn't move, he cracked a small grin. "He's no match for this," he joked half-heartedly, lifting his staff.

Bunny nodded. "If it's not, we're only a tunnel away."

Without another backwards glance, Jack loped off into the darkness, his staff and the cold wind guiding the way.

* * *

I was freezing.

I couldn't breathe, moving hurt, and I was absolutely shivering.

And I knew Pitch Black was anything but a liar.

He'd proven it, hadn't he? I could see Emmett loud and clear now. Suspended a couple feet off of the floor opposite me. Chains like the ones chafing against my skin sprouted from the wall, nabbing Emmett's hands and forcing them up above his head, which drooped between hunched shoulders. His leg, the one he complained about in real life, up at the surface, was twisted at an unnatural angle. His pants were as torn as my clothes were, but his leg… It looked like the blood had welded the shredded jeans to his skin.

I knew I looked the same: little bitemarks sprinkling all over our flesh, deep gouges slicing into our cheeks and necks and everywhere else, and hair matted with our own blood. And I knew we felt the same, too. My throat felt dead, after the squelches and screams that had torn their way through it for what seemed like hours on end. My joints ached, and my hands were completely numb, like they'd just disappeared without a trace. Well, I mean, there was more than a trace of pain encircling my knobbly wrists; it was more like a chainsaw was making its way slowly around them, cutting a sort of bloody tattoo, tearing just the skin. I struggled to breathe, partly because my ribcage collapsed over my lungs — hanging from the wall by my arms made for an uncomfortable position — and partly because of the sand that was circling in my throat. Air came in and out in puffs, blowing the hair off of my face.

The physical pain I could deal with. Pain is just a message. You can ignore that message. It created this kind of fog that buzzed in my ears and twinged along my skin, and it muddled my brain a little, but not nearly enough.

No, it was what I'd seen that I couldn't get out of my head. Pitch's stupid teeth puncturing Emmett, and sharp knives of dark he'd sprout from his wrists, tearing skin and drawing shrieks and helpless flails from the little guy. All I could do was scream and writhe against the chains of compact sand that had long but since rubbed my skin raw. Our screams and his laughter made up a twisted symphony of terror, and when Emmett's eyes would start to slide closed, I'd stop screaming. Maybe if he actually fainted or fell asleep, it wouldn't be so bad.

Then Pitch's amber eyes would turn on me, an insane leer that made me scream again, and it'd be my turn.

Now, I couldn't even fake life in my eyes for Emmett. I couldn't make them look alive. With those bruises and all that blood marring his normally bright features, I wished I was dead.

"Em?" I croaked, lifting my head a little. My lips, sticky and cracking, barely parted around his name.

It took him a minute to answer. "Hi, Will."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Silence. I was grateful for it, so I could catch my breath.

Then: "What are we gonna do?" He pulled apart his eyelashes, which were gooped together by tears and blood.

I sighed, but it just mutated into a huge coughing fit. Once it settled, I murmured, "I don't know."

His head dropped back down again.

"Try to sleep, buddy."

His breathing was shaky. So was mine. He fought to keep down tears, but I fought to make black sand come up. But I still managed to hum a few words, even though it was totally off tempo, and it seemed to soothe him a bit.

_Let's get rich and buy our parent's homes in the south of France,_

_Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance,_

_Let's get rich and build a house on a mountain, making everybody look like ants_

_From way up there_

_You and I_

_You and I_

That last line was just a whisper. Funnily enough, it's hard to sing while stars dance behind your eyelids. My brain felt like it was pulling itself apart. I felt a slow trickle of warmth slide down my neck — the movement must've opened up the crack Pitch had made at the back of my head.

Like the one I'd made in Jason's.

God, that felt like forever ago. I thought back — slowly, mind you, so I wouldn't overwhelm my blended brain — in a frantic attempt to see what had set in motion this whole stupid thing. Was it having that bath? Or maybe Jack Frost coming into work, confusing me? Or maybe his visit in my room. That was it, I decided. Without that whole conversation, I wouldn't have been loud, Emmett wouldn't have woken up, and Jason wouldn't have, either.

But how long would it be before I'd taken enough of Jason's shit, anyways? Another couple of days? I knew he'd hurt Emmett. I'd been naive enough before to think that he hadn't, but now I've seen those bruises. Jason never made it blatant before, but that black and blue smudge poking out from under his boxers, back in his room, as he whooped his friends' asses at Minecraft... How long would it take for the anger to stew, burning and bubbling over, before I snapped?

I gave up thinking. It was too much work. My saliva was working itself into cement, and it was getting harder and harder to swallow. I wanted to follow Emmett into dreamland, but I figured I'd end up having nightmares or something. So I just hung there, throbbing everywhere and trying not to whimper.

Suddenly, I noticed my breaths were kind of puffy. In a visible way. Not that I could see very clearly, anyway, but this was new. Here I'd been thinking I was sick and dying and being cold was a side effect, but maybe Pitch was just playing with me by making the dark cold, too.

But then, amongst the shadows and the greyscale shapes, I heard my name.

"Willow?"

It was a new voice, not the one that had been echoing nonstop since I could remember, cracking into the insane side of my mind. And it wasn't Emmett's. This was a young voice, male, and hushed, and vaguely familiar.

"Willow, where are you?"

I didn't say anything. I wanted to see who was going to "help" my dying body before he saw me.

_Pitch's just playing with you,_ I told myself harshly. _Making you think you're not alone, so you'll embarrass yourself more._

_"Willow!"_

The sudden white was shocking. It seemed to glow, it was so _white, _amongst all the shadows and lack of light. It appeared from behind what I assumed was a wall to my right, and gave my head a deliberate spin before I registered that I'd seen that tuft of hair before.

From here, I could observe him where I didn't before. His body was slim, shoulders narrow, and limbs slender. His navy hoodie was streaked with what looked like hoarfrost, and in his hands he carried that shepherd's crook. But now it was... glowing. It was so cold, it was glowing a frigid blue.

From his slacky teenage-ish posture, he almost struck me as delicate, until he turned his face to me. Those grey eyes burned fiercely determined, which kind of scared me for a second, before they softened in what I thought was relief. The thin dark eyebrows settled, and his delicate mouth broke into a grin - not a feisty one, like what I'd seen before, but one of genuine satisfaction.

"Hey, there you are," he murmured. His voice seemed too deep for his body, like his demeanour, physical and behavioural, were frozen, but his voice had been affected by time. He stepped silently to the bars disfiguring his face. Crouching, he reached through them to me.

"Jack Frost," I whispered. A sort of drunken smile slid over my teeth. "I figured I'd just imagined you. But here you are. In the Bogeyman's lair." I chuckled a bit - God, I really _was_ insane - but the sudden intake of air sent the sand up my throat, and I began to cough without hope of ever stopping.

"Oh, boy." He touched his staff to the bars, and from its tip blasted a stream of ice, spreading over the blackened bars until they were completely glazed over with blue. Striking them with his staff sent shards flying, and soon his hands were brushing over my forehead. He murmured gently, trying to soothe me as my body fought for air, and focusing on how frigid his hands were seemed to help. Before, so long ago in my room, I'd thought he was cold from lack of protection from the winter. But here, his were like freaking flesh-and-bone _icicles. _He _was _winter.

"I don't have a clue what I'm doing," he sang nervously, smiling reassuringly at me as the coughing receded. "You're going to be OK, OK?" I nodded slightly, trying not to make any sudden movements. He narrowed his eyes at me when the air spiralling in the hollow of my throat rattled as I took a shallow breath. "What did he do to you?"

I shook my head. "I'm not entirely sure," I managed. "Emmett…" I looked over his shoulder at the little body.

Jack's gaze followed mine. The angles in his jaw sharpened as he clenched it. "OK. OK," he murmured to himself, nodding. He seemed just as terrified as I was.

"Help him first."

He held up a finger at my pathetic wheezing. "Don't talk," he shushed, so I didn't as he inspected me. His hands were like little snowflakes brushing against my skin, gentle and ice-cold. "You first. You're in much worse shape than he is, thank you very much." His gentle hands reached up, fumbling with the chains, and soon my arms were free. I dropped with a puff, but Jack caught me easily, lowering me onto the floor. It was weird. My arms felt like they were as light as a feather. Jack handled me like I was weightless. In that one moment, I _did_ feel like a snowflake. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

Instead, I complained at him. "My head," I panted, as another bout of dizziness swirled the world around me. In an instant, his hands chilled the bleeding wound, feathering through my hair.

"Oh, man." The white skin of his slender hands was beautifully tinged with red — I'd always thought it a wintry kind of beauty, crimson and white together — and he had to take a steadying breath before looking at me with a fake smile. "You'll be alright. It's just bleeding." His Adam's apple bobbed in a swallow.

"No, really? Head wounds _never _bleed." I couldn't help myself. I mean, come on. Sarcasm is like my middle name.

My half-hearted, if a bit raspy, attempt at lightening the mood seemed to relieve him a bit. "I honestly would be the wrong person to talk to about things like this." The pressure of the current situation made his comment not as sharp or playful or flirtatious as it normally would be.

"Oh, great. I'm dying, and I'm stuck with a medically inept person."

"Hey, it's not my fault they wanted to plan everything out first. You'd both be dead if I'd listened to them." He held his bloodied hands up in surrender. I thought I knew who he meant by "them," so I didn't ask. The Guardians.

He glanced at his hands, and then at my closing eyelids as he pulled away. "Does it feel better with…" He splayed his fingers. "…you know...?"

"Yeah, keep 'em there." He slid his icicle fingers back through my hair, and my headache lessened a bit, from pain that could split a continent to a throbbing pulse.

"I'm so sorry about this," he spoke softly, glancing around the room. "I wanted a word or two — and _maybe_ even a punch — with your captor, but we need to get you guys out of here."

"Pitch..."

"You've met him, then." He shifted his weight so he was on the balls of his feet, cradling my neck in his hands. "_Not_ a nice guy."

"I'd say." I was drowning on the inside. "Mr. Frost -"

"Hey, woah there." He snorted, jerking his head in a sort of nod of laughter. "Do I look like a mister to you? You've met me before. You called me Frosty, remember?"

"Oh, right. So, Frosty? How are we getting out of here?"

"Don't worry, I've got backup." Smiling knowingly, he pulled a crystalline sphere from the pocket of his hoodie. His fingers slid across its surface, slick from my blood. A thin lacework of scarlet marred whatever it was on the inside.

"Wow." I huffed, partly because I was literally out of breath, but mostly because I wasn't too impressed with this guy. Some rescuer. "A snow globe. Going to shake it till it snows in here?"

"I wish. _That_ would liven the place up." Keeping a hand around my neck, he chucked the glass over his shoulder. Without a sound, it seemed to tear through something, opening up a sort of hole — a time-space-continuum kind of hole. Through it I could see a whole lot of white - and that was it, before everything inside collapsed into a swirling vortex of colour. I had to look away, since my lovely eyes were so accustomed to this perpetual dimness.

"Now, I'm gonna have to move you from here to there, OK?" His eyes were wide, and pleading. He was just as panicked as I was, but he was trying really hard to hide it. I pretended I didn't see the raw fear behind that strength in his eyes, and I nodded with as much fierceness as I could. "It's not far after that, I promise. I know it's gonna hurt, but... Heh, I'd say we'll make it a game, but that won't work with you, would it?" He ran a hand through his hair, streaking it with red. He looked like some sort of gender twisted Cruella deVil.

I mean, a much more attractive Cruella deVil.

"What about Emmett?" I asked.

"He'll be right behind you. I promise." He seemed to get the whole weight of the importance of Emmett making it through this.

"Ok." I tried to swallow. It didn't work. "It'll be fine," I convinced myself. I could feel my pulse slowing in the throb that swelled in my head. "Just get me out of here."

"OK. OK, let's see how long you can stay awake, OK?" OK seemed to be his favourite word. "I'm gonna count, and I want you to keep your eyes open for as long as you can." His timbre cracked a little as my eyelids drooped, but I snapped them wide open.

"One." He slid his hands from around my neck to under my back. I tried to hold my breath. Maybe a vacuum in my lungs would keep the sand still. The skin poking out of my torn clothes felt like they were exposed to a snowbank: he was soft and inviting, but biting cold.

Not that I cared much, at this point.

"Two." He slung my arm around his shoulders. The thick fabric of his hoodie was stiff and chilled.

"Three." That was the hardest part. Don't get me wrong, he lifted me easily. My head didn't like lolling around, though. I felt like throwing up and fainting at the same time.

"Four." He straightened his legs, hooking his staff around his neck.

"Five. Nononono, keep 'em open, or I'm going to have to start over!" He spoke bravely, with the same enthusiasm I'd use for a game of hide and seek with Emmett. It drew a smile out of me, but the sand... it was too much...

"Six." He stepped toward the white, and that's when everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

"NORTH!"

Bunny's ears perked up just as Tooth's feathers twitched. One glance at each other sent them racing through the halls of the workshop. Bunny's legs moved at a wild pace, faster than they'd carried him ever before. He bolted through the kitchen, knocking over a few elves and leaping over a few Yetis.

"Get North!" he heard Tooth yell behind him, presumably at Phil, the biggest Yeti, who was presently shoving his face into a plate of cookies. A glimpse backward showed him the hummingbird fairy jerking with an elevated amount of randomness, barely missing the slanted beams running along the roof of the corridor. He looked away before he could suppress a smile. He hoped for her sake Jack was alright. Poor little Sheila would implode if he had a smear of blood on his cheek.

Which was a bit of an understatement, as it turned out. It was in his hair, on his face, even his staff was slick with ichor. It left a sad trail of red behind it when it skidded across the floor.

"Aheh..." Jack seemed to gag on the words before he could yell them out into the workshop. He was crouched on the ground, cradling a bloodied body, staring wide-eyed at the face.

"Frostbite!" Bunny made it to his side first, only because Tooth had to stop to scream in horror at the sight of the wintry boy.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" He glanced over his shoulder desperately. "It's all hers! Somebody has to go and get Emmett!"

Simultaneously, two Yetis cracked their knuckles and stepped through the portal without a moment to lose.

Tooth fluttered around above, random jerks sending her in a haphazard path. Her hands were clutched under her chin. "What happened, Jack?" She didn't take her eyes off of him.

"I-I don't know," he muttered. The girl's head twisted in his lap, her brows gnarled and her eyes wide. "She was like this when I found her, but she was awake, she just-"

"Take it easy there, mate," Bunny said gently. He waved a paw in front of her face, but those wide eyes weren't seeing anything. Nothing but fear. "We'll take care of 'er."

Jack only had eyes for this torn girl, but he nodded. "I think he did something to her. She's having issues breathing."

Bunny could hear it. Something rattled in the base of her throat, and it didn't sound like it was going to come up easily. He glanced uneasily at Jack, and Tooth, who finally landed next to Jack.

Before they could say anything, North bounded up toward them, herded by a flock of Yetis. "What is going on?" he boomed, pushing back the few concerned Yetis who reached to Jack. At the sight of the flood of red, his brows set low on his forehead. "Jack. Are you alright?" His accent was heavy. It's funny how panic can do that. Like going back to your roots would strengthen you in times of trouble.

Jack's lips were pressed together, and he was blinking rapidly, but otherwise he looked fine. His nodding head supported that theory. North forcefully scooped up the girl, torn up and bloody, her hair matted and hanging loosely down into Jack's face.

"Out of way. _Out of way! _Bozhe moy, if I step on pointy heads, I will not be sorry!" Jack grabbed at his staff to follow North as he pushed through the mob of Yetis and little red bells. Warmth bit at his fingertips, making him flinch back; it took him a moment before he realized it was the blood, creating a thin crimson film around the rod. He steeled himself against it, willing his hands to ignore the heat, and snatched it from the pool surrounding it.

"Do you know what's wrong?" Jack asked, floating next to North as he headed toward the infirmary. He didn't quite trust his legs to walk — not after the heat and the dissonant smell of blood.

"You do no one any good by panicking, Jack," North said briskly. "Is head wound, will bleed excessively. Does not mean is serious."

"Her breathing. He did something to her breathing."

"I can hear, Jack, but is nothing I can deal with until she wakes up."

Jack clamped his jaw shut. Arguing with the Cossack never ended well. He just flitted back to the portal to lead the Yetis, slinging an unconscious Emmett between them, to the room North headed to.

He could tell it was going to be a long night.

* * *

Waking up cold was becoming something of a habit.

My body was shaking, but I don't think it was because it was cold. There were voices, everywhere, and jingles and thuds and _voices, _and I just wished they would stop for five seconds. Then maybe I could wrap my mind around the pain that was entangling itself in my head.

"What are you saying?"

That voice.

"Come on, Willow."

There it was again.

It wasn't until a something chilled ran along my flushed cheeks that everything rushed back.

"Jack."

That one word was just a syllable, a few consonants and a single vowel, and yet it was all I could get out. It seemed as if sandpaper was grating against my vocal chords.

"Hey, I'm right here." Knots in his tone loosened, and I'd never been so glad to hear a voice in my life. It shushed a bit, as if he turned around to talk over his shoulder. "North, get over here, she's up."

"Vat?"

A really heavy Russian voice boomed underneath the rest of the noises, a clear bass tone that, from what I could tell from its mutterings, seemed to forget about the occasional pronoun.

Voices, too many voices...

"Nonono, Willow, it's OK!" His voice was high, in a kind of reassurance, as gentle hands held my shoulders, cold seeping easily through my shirt. I didn't realize I was thrashing my head around until I found myself wrestling against him. "This is North. He's a friend."

"Guardian?" I rasped.

A beat of electricity — concerned glances, I imagined — and then: "Yes. He's going to help you."

"Open eyes." The Russian voice — North — instructed forcefully, but with the kind of gentleness of a grandfather tending to his injured grandson. Obediently, I slit my eyes open, but the overall white of it sent them shut again. I shook my head, but that just swirled my brain against my skull. "Bright."

"Vat did she say?" Heavy pauses, heavy syllables. I felt hair tickle on my neck. That was what clued me in. I figured out who this North was — it was Santa's beard, brushing my skin, as was leaning in to listen.

"Too bright," Jack murmured quickly. Then, louder, "Hey, everyone, listen up!" I winced as the noise amplified the pain from excruciating to unbearable. "I need everyone to clear out, except for Bunny, Sandy and Tooth. We need quiet more than we need your help right now, but thanks! If we need you, we'll call you."

Grumblings and endless twinkling bells. Finally, silence slammed the door shut behind the mob.

"Sandy, dim lights, if you please." The russet voice that belonged to North spoke, quietening as he saw me flinch back from the volume.

Cold fingers clutched mine. Suddenly the black behind my eyelids deepened, and I focused all my might in not allowing myself to succumb to delirium.

_Do you believe in the Bogeyman?_

_WILLOW! HELP!_

Hopeless shrieks, helpless strained muscles.

The voices rattling around my brain weren't real, but they still drew writhing moans from my chest. I flinched back from Jack's hands, brushing against my feverish cheeks, but they became my anchor in the blackness behind my eyelids. They seemed to chase the darkness away, shooing the pitch black memories out of my head.

_I guess I _am_ afraid of the dark._

The same deep voice was gentler this time. "How is now?"

I nodded a little. Swallowing hard, I squinted as light, however little of it, flooded through my eyes and into my brain.

"There!" North said encouragingly. "That is right! Now, look at me."

It wasn't so bad now. I just needed to get used to it, like diving under sub-zero water.

Focusing took a bit of practice. There was a huge blur of white, then next to it, a smaller one, and a blast of colour on the other side of the bed I was lying in, and a short, squat little yellow thing next to my elbow.

Slowly, definite lines lines drew themselves into the blurs, turning the huge white orb into a bearded face, and the other into Jack's wisp of white hair, flopping down onto his forehead. I couldn't focus on the other three shapes. The pain that stabbed the back of my eyes chastised me for trying.

"There they are, marvellous hazel eyes, they are!" North beamed at me — I could see straight, glinting teeth, despite the beard hanging over his mouth. His face was just as anyone would imagine Santa — rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed, all that stuff, but the first sign of difference was his thick eyebrows. They looked angry, flaring in dark arches toward his temples, but they fit in strangely with the approachable-ness of his face. Wrapping rather indelicately around his arms were bold tattoos, "Naughty" and "Nice", and I could see a gold glint behind each of his shoulders... they almost looked like handles of swords.

"Now," he murmured, crossing his big forearms, so the words inked into his skin folded almost gracefully onto each other. In a bold, intimidating way. "We need to know what Pitch did to you." His chair creaked kind of loudly as he leaned inwards.

I shot a wide-eyed glance to Jack, before wincing at the sloshing of mushed brain against my temples. Both sets of eyes were pinned onto me. Jack squeezed my fingers.

"Sand," I managed before coughing. Each hack shot stabs of pain through my head.

"Sand?" Jack repeated, narrowing his eyes. He exchanged a confused glance with North.

Soft ringing, like the kind of magical noise you'd associate with a fairy godmother, interrupted the two Guardians' glance. It was gentle — it reminded me of the disc-like percussion instruments I'd seen at band camp; they fastened onto a special stand, and they only produced that kind of soft _shing _by drawing a bow across the edge.

The noise was accompanied by the soft brushing of tiny fibres. Like sand being chucked against itself. Before I could panic, though, a little body landed lightly next to me. It was like a puppet suspended by a string.

That was all I could remember. The little golden body, and then I slipped away again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Heeeeyyyyooo!**

**Just want to get a few things out there.**

**1. I'm going on info I've gathered from various FanFics and the movie. I have not read the books. But I plan to. And I have a feeling I will be facepalming at my pathetic interpretations of the histories of the Guardians, and their various powers, and such, when I do come around to reading them. So, if I say something that is NOT cannon, or that coincidentally IS, then please don't judge. Pretend you've only seen the movie as you're reading this. ;)**

**2. I've hit a brick wall, so I'm posting, like, all of the chapters I have all at once so I can clear out my WIP folder of chapters that are completed. Maybe it'll clear my head at the same time.**

**3. R&R, s'il vous plait!**

**4. It's almost Christmas, so therefore inspiration will come to me, eventually. After all, the main setting of this particular story is the North Pole. Gotta have Christmas in Santa's workshop, am I right?**

**5. If you have anything to say - good, bad and ugly - please feel free to let me know! And, if it's good, you can tell other people, too. I'd like my readership to grow, if ya know what I mean. :D**

**Shmanks much! **

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig**

"Tooth, come on. Give her some time."

I stirred at the familiar voice.

"No. She should be gone as soon as she can stand."

Now that one, I didn't recognize. It was shrill and female. But the booming voice making some sort of exclamation in Russian was enough to draw me out of my stupor. I choked down a cough, breathing heavily through my nose, before trying to peel apart my eyelids. Gross. It was as if someone had glued them together with sleep. Plus, my pupils weren't really feeling the light, despite the fact that it was near pitch-black. Even in the darkness of Northern night, pain shot from the backs of my eyes up through my forehead. I instantly snapped them shut, giving myself some time to wake up — and hear some things that wouldn't be said if I were awake.

North stopped grumbling to exclaim, "Look at her! Was _covered_ in blood, and had Pitch's nightmare sand shoved down throat! And what of her brother? Hm? He keeps asking for her. We've got to give at least couple days to recover."

I silently thanked North for defending me. _You try and breathe around a couple of pounds of sand, then we'll see who's willing to travel._

"She has a family," the woman's voice emphasized, "that will be worrying about her. We can't risk it!" Desperation rang high and true.

"They won't believe it's _us,_ Toothie," another new voice put in, Australian, gruff._ What is this, a language fruit basket?_

"Still, it would be best to let her family take care of her."

"Tooth. Come on. Think rationally." This voice, the one that has kept me grounded the last few times I've been awake, instantly made the panic flaring through my stomach calm, like a storm slowly freezing over, churning water slowly halting to the cold. "Sandy's been busy all night, getting that stuff out of her."

"If anyone can help her, it's him," the Australian agreed.

"Plus…" the other voice said hesitantly, "I don't think either of them should go back there." A pause, then, "I think they're the only family they have now."

There was an awkward silence, a couple of dramatic female sighs, and rustling until a door clicked closed.

An exasperated sigh, little slapping sounds of bare feet approaching. "How's she doing, Sandy?" Jack's voice was close, to my left, based on the weird cold reaching my exposed left fingertips. It was like an unnatural opposite of the orb of warmth a campfire creates.

I heard it again, that gentle _shing,_ and a brushing of a thousand tiny particles brushing against themselves. I was tempted to open my eyes to see what the heck was going on, but I didn't want to make it known that I was awake until it was absolutely impossible.

Like, to pee.

Which was going to be approximately four minutes.

"Heh. You said it." _What? Did I miss something? No one said anything! _He exhaled loudly through his nose before padding away. "Let me know if anything changes. I'll go and check on Emmett."

The door clicked closed again, and blessed silence and the crackling of what sounded like a fire engulfed me in comfort. That and a sort of noise, like sand gently brushing against glass, a shush that babbled in a kind of cheery gentleness.

I just breathed for a while, relishing in the weightlessness of air in my lungs. Crisp air nipped the inside of my nostrils, but heat wrapped warm fingers around my frozen toes. I've always had cold extremities - it was to the point where they were cold all the time, and if I could actually tell if they were cold, they were probably close to falling off due to frostbite.

What's the term? Cold hands, warm heart?

Psh. As if.

_Open your eyes, Willow._

The voice was gentle, deep, and really comforting - the kind of voice you associate with the wizened wizard who leads the hero to their destiny. So, despite my initial wave of panic, I decided to trust it. I swallowed, because I knew if I attempted to reply, either phlegm or dusty vocal chords would ruin the effect.

_I know you're awake. Just open your eyes. They're all gone now._

I did as he asked. The room had a wintry cabin-esque feel, with the high-vaulted ceilings and dark-stained wood beams stretching along the roof. It filled in the corners, making the angular points warm and hearty-looking. Outside the huge window to my right, black sky opened up, punctured by thousands of little pinpricks of pure white. It stretched out widely over the ground that matched the twinkling stars, glittering a calm, but fierce, white. At my feet, a charming little fireplace housed a moderate flame, feeding itself on the small pile of cindering wood that was unlucky enough to be consumed by its heat. To my left, shadows encased whatever was there, except for a door beside the fireplace. I couldn't accurately decide how big the room was — it wasn't a bedroom. The ceilings were too high to house warmth for sleeping bodies. Warm flame-inflicted shadows danced around, jerking back and forth as the fire decided where to send light, then instantly changing its mind.

The owner of the voice sat on a tall, spindly stool at the foot of my bed, smooshed between the window and my bed. Next to him, on a small table that was carved in the same delicately stocky style as the stool, was a glass jar, filled with an oddly beautiful mixture of what looked like black and golden sand. It was like some sort of artistic rainbow bread, swirling and folding against itself. I thought I knew what that was, and where it had been, but I didn't want to think about it at the moment. Instead, I inspected the guy sitting atop the stool.

It was the little golden man I'd seen before I'd blacked out. He wouldn't have reached my hips, had I been standing, but he didn't seem to be the type of guy who would mind. In fact, he seemed quite content. His hair stood up in weird little peaks, like sand dunes, which was kind of appropriate, I guess, since sand clung to the strands to make it look like the fuzzy half of Velcro. His getup didn't look very solid - like a glistening sand castle, only held together by sheer hope and a bit of water. His face was alight, easily smiling at me as I took his appearance in. The wide (and stupidly adorable) button nose and sunny eyes totally helped his enthusiastic smile seem brighter.

I tried a smile, and a greeting. "Hello, Sandman."

His eyes crinkled and his chest wobbled, like he was chuckling, but no robust laughter came from his mouth. Instead, he seemed to make the same kind of tinkling I'd heard before. It joined in a kind of harmony with the melody of the sputtering fire.

_Hello._

I had to blink slowly to kind of comprehend what just happened. He spoke, but... his mouth didn't... move...

_This is how I prefer to talk. _He sat forward, eyebrows moving as if he was making conversation, but his mouth still didn't move.

"What, so you don't wake anyone up?" I joked half-heartedly as I tried to sit up.

_Maybe. _He said it slowly, like he'd never considered it before. _Huh_. _You _are _a deep thinker._

"Glad you think so." I rubbed my hand along the back of my neck. No crusty flakes of brown - that was a good sign, I guessed, but my bones felt rusted, so dropping my arm back down to my side felt heavenly. I sighed deeply, then glinted a small smile to the little sandy man. "What exactly happened? Where's Emmett?" With each word, I got more agitated. "Where the hell am I? What have you done to me?"

_Willow, relax,_ Sandman's hands floated in midair, like he was pressing my panic down. Oddly enough, it seemed to work. My pattering heart slowed to a steady beat again. _North's looking after Emmett now._

"How is he?"

He didn't answer right away. _He'll be fine._

I narrowed my eyes at him. No matter how adorable he was, I wasn't going to let him smooth over the details of my little brother's survival. "What aren't you telling me?"

His lips pressed together. _He wasn't as bad as you. Your lungs were really close to collapsing. We had to focus on you._

"What happened?"

_His leg —_

I shook my head violently. "I don't need to know the details. Will he be in one piece?"

He shrugged, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. _More or less._

"Good." I leaned back into the pillows. "That's all I need to know."

_We've been looking for you for two weeks straight, Willow. _His hands clasped his knees. _You've been in Pitch's grasp for that long._

I kind of blanched. I've been _this close _to death for… for two weeks straight? "It felt like years, Sandman." It felt odd, thinking that two weeks was gone — just sucked away from me. Like a time-continuum vortex had opened up and eaten fourteen days of my life. Like it just disappeared from my timeline.

Sandman considered his next words carefully. _Do you want to talk about it?_

I frowned. "Not really." I just gestured to my neck, and my cheeks, where I felt scabs catch on fabric and my hair. "He bit, tore, cut, hit, all that kind of stuff, while we had to watch. Then he'd show us our worst nightmares, and we couldn't escape. But other than that, there's not much to talk about, other than Pitch's obvious fear of light." I laughed lightly. "He's not the best interior designer out there, that's for sure. Needs a pop of colour _somewhere_."

Sandman didn't fall for it. His eyebrows lowered, and I could just _feel_ the pity party coming on, so I changed the subject quickly: "I guess I've been a bit of a bone of contention, haven't I?"

He eyed me, like "I wasn't done talking about that, yet," but he played along. _Don't mind Tooth. She has a good heart._

"Yeah, well..." My voice was barely a whisper as I fiddled with the blanket, a soft white quilt with patches of ecru and beige. It was oddly soft, sort of like those cashmere blankets you get at Costco, then you wash them and they become a ratty mess. It felt like the pre-wash plushiness, but it looked like ordinary cotton. "I'm used to not being wanted. I understand if you want to send me home. I can deal. But please, don't make Emmett go back there."

I felt his gaze bore a hole into my head, but I didn't look up. I wasn't interested in getting into the sob story. I just waited for him to respond — in the meantime, I tried to prepare myself for the words "home", "family", "worried", all that stuff. I wanted to rebut it, so badly that my reply was already poised on my tongue, pointed and red-hot like arrows notched on a taut bow. But I knew I wouldn't refuse. No one seemed to get it the first few hundred times I said it, so why would anyone now?

Instead, he said softly, _Willow, you're not leaving here. Not until you're 100% better._

I didn't really believe him, but the hope ignited in my chest caused me to check his face, just to make sure he was telling the truth. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his nose flared, the golden eyes twinkling fiercely. I was shocked to find them so defensive of me, like he was my friend. It had been a _long_ time since I had one of those, to the point where I'd gotten kind of bad at the practice of friendship. But however little I knew about trust and friends anymore, I figured you needed to know each other longer than two and a half minutes in order for them to be relatively protective.

But, then again, these people weren't technically supposed to be real.

Nodding, I murmured, "Thank you."

_You're welcome._ He nodded, too, satisfied, and sat back. _In fact, I would be happy if you didn't leave. At all._

That sharpened my gaze. "What do you mean by that?"

His eyes twinkled, like he had something wonderful hiding behind his back. _You know I'm the Guardian of Dreams, right?_

"Uh... yeah," I said, vaguely remembering stories told about a man sprinkling sand into the eyes of sleepy children, filling their heads with fantastical dreams that kept slinking shadows of nightmares at bay.

_My sand gives children dreams — whether it be winning a national soccer game, or singing a song that comes true, or riding unicorns around, it's my sand that plants those thoughts in their minds. _To prove his point, he pulled a golden thread of grains from thin air, streaming it around with his little hands. The sand caught at the flickering firelight, sparkling in a sweet yellowy white.

"Ok." I rubbed my eyes, hard. This was all a little much. I mean, not that I haven't seen things before that others failed to, but come on. I was getting over some sort of torture the _Bogeyman_ inflicted upon me. Some time to process everything would be _wonderful._ "So… what? What's that got to do with me?"

His eyes glinted with something other than the firelight. _I've never had to use it with you._

I just squinted at him.

_I say that like it's a big deal,_ he continued, releasing the sand from the intangible grip he held it in, sending it to dissipate in a little cloud of gold, _because it is._

"Oh...kay..." I was suddenly very overwhelmed. My line of thought seemed to just attack the back of my face, and I had to scrunch it up violently in order for it to feel any better. "Why exactly does that make you want me here?"

He watched me viciously rub my eyes with a sad little smile. _It's nice to have someone around who can hold their own in the realm of the unreal._

I just eyed him, like "you're joking, aren't you", then snorted a little. "Hate to break it to you, Sandman, but my dreams have long but been shattered."

_Nonetheless, you have a spark in you, Willow, that no one else has. Even if everyone else has trouble seeing it. _Sandman shifted his little butt on his stool so that, instead of dangling his shins over the edge, his short little legs stuck straight out, horizontally. _That much is certain, since you can see me now._

My eyebrow quirked involuntarily. "Really."

_Guardians can only be seen by people who believe in them - which, anymore, is usually only kids. You are the only teenager since the Dark Ages to see us. _He gestured to me, in his weirdly mute way, as he continued speaking to me. In my head.

"Yeah, I've been told I'm something special." I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was clothed. A strange thing to be noticed, I know, but after spending a very vulnerable _x_ amount of time — _x_ apparently being fourteen days — having to try to hide myself from a lunatic because of my almost-nakedness, the warmth and the cloth catching on the thousands of little shallow cuts all over my body made me uncomfortable.

_Pitch told you, didn't he?_ His head cocked to the side, like a teachers' does when they're trying to coax the truth out of you about someone bullying you.

I tried to nod nonchalantly, pulling at the sleeve of the hoodie I was wearing. It was a size too big for me, but it was comfortable enough. Navy blue, uneven drawstrings dangling down onto my chest.

My bound chest.

_Sweet. New bra._

He sighed inaudibly. _You know, if you don't fear him, you won't be able to see him. _His eyes tried to push a legit answer out of me. _He can't touch you if you don't believe._

I sighed too, gesturing vaguely with my hands, because I didn't know what the hell to make out of all of this. "I didn't think I believed in him. In fact, I thought I'd stopped believing in _all_ of you the moment I was sent away from my home."

He regarded me for a moment, but didn't say anything. Not that he actually _said_ anything before.

Clearing my throat, I pointed to the jar of swirly sand on the table. "That's yours?"

_Sort of._ Pressing his lips together, he leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. _It's kind of a long story._

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere?" I settled in deeper to the pillows, tucking my hands into the pocket of the hoodie under the quilt. My movement, and my fingers playing with the fabric, released the smell of crisp nothing, like the smell of frozen water, with a hint of musky pine.

_Well..._ The little yellow man looked troubled, so much so that the vibrance of his eyes dimmed. For such a sunny guy, it was sad to see, and a bit disconcerting. Ok, maybe it alarmed me a bit, but I was done being alarmed, so I patted the quilt next to my knees. He smiled, then floated over weightlessly to rest next to me. I would have said he leapt, but... he just seemed to pick himself up, spinning slowly in the air before resting on the quilt. Like a string of fishing line lifted him. He even raised his knees into a cross before plopping himself onto the mattress. He radiated something much more than warmth — and knowing him, it was hope, happiness, innocence, all that mushy crap you associate with dreams. But that crap was kind of comforting.

_A while back..._ he began slowly, opening his palms. It was such a genuine gesture — something I've found only transparent people do, open their hands up like some sort of susceptible offering. _Actually, it was kind of recent, but Pitch... A long time ago — like a _long_ time ago — we defeated him. We thought we'd gotten rid of him for good. But you can never get rid of fear. _Something was weighing down his tone, and he looked out the window, over the endless white and black.

"So he came back?"

He nodded brusquely, making the little peaks of his hair wobble. _He made all of the children stop believing in us. He took Tooth's fairies — the little ones who take the teeth and leave gifts — and all of the teeth, and stopped Bunny from bringing Easter to the world. _A breath. Then, _He shot me, with a spear of nightmares. He turned me. Twisted me, so my dreams became his own weapons, inflicting fear on the kids all over the world. _His little fists balled up in the quilt, and anger and shame twisted his eyebrows so ridges formed above his nose. _That's how he had gained power in the first place — taking the sand I used to give dreams to everyone, and blackening them._

"Sandman..." It was weird — I could almost see everything happening, vividly dancing across a sort of subconscious line of sight. I wondered if it was his sand, giving me a sort of version of a daydream. It was... horrifying. "It wasn't your fault."

It took him a second, but he loosened his grip and managed a tight-lipped smile. _I know. But the point of the story is, that's what he did to you. This stuff — _he tapped the glass with a shot of his own sand, sending a soft _sol_ tone through the air — _the black, it's his nightmares. The gold is what I've managed to change back into my own, but... it's more resistant now._

"That..." I swallowed. My saliva suddenly seemed kind of thick. "That was _all_ inside me?"

_I got as much as I could, _he said, _but you'll have to excrete the rest. _

"Great. If I end up feeling pukey, I'm glad I know it's because I'm digesting nightmares."

He winced. _Sorry._

I had to giggle. Jeesh, these Guardians didn't know the concept of sarcasm. "Sandman. I was totally joking. I can _breathe _now." I examined his little face — I realize I've been using the word _little_ to describe him, but that's the perfect word for him, that and _wide — _and I gave him a smile, one that actually reached my eyes, I think.

He seemed to accept my thanks by half-smiling, so I sat back again. "So, how _did_ you save the children?" I asked, tucking my hair behind my ear.

_Jack Frost._

"Ah." I grinned. "He seems to like the whole 'save-the-helpless-people' thing."

_Yeah, he's a keeper, I guess. _He closed his eyes in a full-out chuckle, although it was kind of lost, since he didn't make a noise except for the dancing sand that surrounded his head. _Only one child was left — in fact, he was just about to give up when Jack gave him something to believe in._

I looked down at the drawstrings my hands had found on their own. "Hm" was all I could say before a huge yawn ripped my face in half.

_You should get some more sleep. _He stood, brushing off a few stray grains of gold, and floated toward the jar, grasping it with both hands. _You may have nightmares. _He lifted the jar. _I wish I could do something about it... but if you want, I can stay until you fall asleep._

I gave him a thin smile. "That's ok, Sandman. You've done so much for me already. Thanks, though."

_Please, just call me Sandy. Feel free to call for one of us — there's always someone around._

That made my smile not so thin. "Thanks, Sandy."

He nodded, a friendly smile playing across his squat face. Floating a few feet above the floor, he shut the door quietly after sending me a wink.

It felt like the sun had gone behind a cloud. The magnet between my eyebrows activated again, as I picked at the little film of granules that covered the quilt. It glinted in the firelight. Soon I had a pile of dreamsand settled in my palm, a dense heaviness that collected in the fissures of my skin. As I curled up around that fistful of gold, I thought of how wonderful it had been, for the first time in a really long time, to be transparent. I didn't have to fake anything. And no one seemed to mind.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hewo!**

**To anyone who cares, any suggestions as to a new title? It was just a temporary thing, and I still think it's too generic and plain and not RIGHT, so there. Any ideas?**

**AANNDD that's it. **

**Luv ya!**

**doubtfulfig**

**P.S. This brick wall is being stupid. I hate writer's block.**

Jack didn't knock, just in case he'd interrupt something, like sleep, or North's examinations. He just pushed the heavy door in a few inches, just far enough to poke his forehead inside. He'd done that enough times in his life, peeking around windows and doors and through screens… Just enough to see, never enough to be a part of.

But North still sat up straight and turned in his seat. He beckoned with one of his massive hands, and so Jack slipped inside and settled on the footboard of Emmett's bed. His head was almost lost in the pillow. It looked like someone had taken to water-colour across his face, with blue and black and purple blending themselves together. Cuts and — wait, were those _bite-marks? _— peppered his fair skin, and although he had just been bathed, his wet head left slightly red smudges on the bleached cotton of the pillowcase. His face was slack, for once sporting no emotion. The few times Jack had caught a glimpse of him, through the mob of Yetis, he was either succumbed into sleep, obviously wrought with nightmares, or wide awake, thrashing around, begging North to stop. He squealed at such volumes, writhing against the Guardians' grips, words and pleads that sounded very un-Emmett like. That was when Phil had push past Jack with a syringe, making him suddenly feel nauseous, causing him to retreat to the quiet of Willow's room.

It wasn't _that_ quiet in there, to be honest. Most of the time, she'd interrupt his thinking with soft moans in her sleep. She'd never know the countless times during the night he'd sit by her side, holding her hand until she slunk back into a dreamless sleep. And Jack had a feeling that, if she ever did know, she'd skin him alive.

But it was better than watching his friends wrestle a bloodied kid into a stretcher.

"How's he doing?" Jack murmured, setting his staff down so it leaned against the wall.

North sighed. "As best as can be." He tore his clear blue eyes from Emmett's closed ones, giving a faint smile to Jack. "How is Willow? That is where you were, is it not?"

Jack looked up at North through the chunk of white that always hung over his eyes."She's going to be fine. Just a few shallow cuts, bruises," he gestured to Emmett, whose intense circles under his eyes seemed to cut into his skin deeper than the gashes, "but Sandy got the sand out. She's breathing just fine now." _Although she's whimpering in her sleep. She can't escape Pitch's grasp, but she'll live through it, I guess. _Jack couldn't decide if that was a blessing, or a curse.

"Good." North's husky reply jerked Jack out of his thoughts. He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees, sighing again through his fists, which clasped under his nose.

Jack studied him. He knew North to be a big, boisterous old man who didn't _act _anything like an old man. A Guardian who could zealously defend the smallest mouse, had they proven themselves worthy. Jack knew that better than anyone — _who _are _you, Jack Frost? What is your centre? —_ but now, no gleam sparkled under those crazy eyebrows. Now they hung low over his eyes, hiding away the majority of the translucent blue. They burned on low, simmering with something unsaid.

Jack turned back to Emmett. He seemed to be sleeping as peacefully as it could be expected. His eyes flickered around behind his eyelids, but there was no sign that the dream he was immersed in was a nightmare, or one induced by Sandy's dreamsand. "What's wrong?" Jack asked, returning his gaze to North.

"Ach." North brought his hands down to his knees, as if bracing himself against them. He shrugged, gesturing vaguely with his hand, as if he'd given up. "His leg has been crushed. Was bleeding too quickly and smashed too severely for me to save it."

Jack could only look back at the little boy. Now that he looked, he only saw the outline of one leg from under his blanket. The other ended at his hip. He gaped and closed his mouth again, before imploring North, "But… You're a Guardian. You must've been able to do _something_ —"

"Jack." North's smile was despondent, and knowing. It made whatever had lit inside Jack's gut dim a bit. "There was nothing."

He could only nod. The darkness pressed heavily against the window — it was almost dawn, and that's always the darkest hour, right? The black tried to seep its way inside, and it seemed to be winning, just because of the huge quantity of shadows the fire in the corner sent sprawling across the walls.

"So." Jack said, breaking the brittle silence. "What are we gonna do?"

North shook his head, eyebrows raised. "Keep them here, for now. They will not be going anywhere until they are better, and _all_ questions are answered."

Jack nodded, knowing North was referring to the death that had seemed to set all of this in motion. He desperately wanted to know, too, but he figured it was too soon after their encounter with Pitch to ask them to talk about something like that. Jack couldn't even think about it without shuddering, and he hadn't been the one who spent two weeks immersed in shadow.

Just days of scouring every inch of the surface of Earth, and days of following the rabbit down his rabbit-hole.

North's sigh was blusterous, like the winds Jack had inflicted upon Alberta only a few days ago. "Shostakovich. I need food," he stated simply, running a hand down his beard.

That was a lie, Jack knew, since Guardians didn't exactly _need_ food. But he knew it would comfort North to snack on a few cookies. And he deserved comfort, after a night like tonight.

He watched the Cossack smile, at least half-genuinely. After all, cookies were his third love, after children and his fellow Guardians. Then he hoisted himself to his feet with a good-natured grunt. "Will be back in few minutes to check temperature."

"Kay. I'm not going anywhere," Jack replied, sending a half-grin back in return.

A heavy hand clapped onto Jack's shoulder, then North was gone, leaving the room silent except for the cracking wood.

He'd always wondered what fire really was. Is it a thing? Something tangible, something that would tickle your fingertips if you could somehow steel yourself against the heat? Something whose diet consisted of wood and homes and forests?

He hated not knowing these things. He'd never had the chance to go to school, goof around with his buddies, learn things about the world. He didn't think he'd mind the boring stuff so much, now. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off: knowledge and friends for a few hours of boredom. He'd willingly pay that price.

Just as the logs in the fire snapped, spitting out a shower of sparks, Emmett's eyes flicked open with a jerk of his head. It took him a frantic moment to grasp his transition into reality, darting his big brown eyes around. Then he caught sight of Jack's sly grin. Then a smile of his own split his face — and a few scabs.

"Jack Frost!" he whispered, with no small amount of enthusiasm.

"Hey, bud!" Emmett's radiance drew Jack's spirit up, strengthening his smile. "How're you feeling?"

"Ok," he said before clearing his throat. "Ouch."

"Try not to move too much," Jack said, watching his wince as he tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position.

"It's weird," Emmett murmured, finally settling back down. "I can't feel my leg." One of his hands emerged from under the quilt, fumbling around at his waist level.

"Ah…" Jack wished North was here. He'd be better at this kind of thing. _This doesn't count as snowballs and funtimes. It's not part of my job description._ "Emmett, I'm... I'm so sorry."

His hand stilled at the stump protruding from his hip. His face tightened. "Oh."

Jack felt a pang in his heart, as if it was him in that bed, with one less limb. How absolutely deafening it was, how completely crushing, to lose something that would handicap you forever. No wonder they called that kind of trauma "crippling". Jack felt his eyebrows collide, and he had to clear his throat of the emotions prowling around there.

"Will I have to be in a wheelchair?" Emmett asked. He drew his hand up to his chest, shying away from his hip, like he suddenly didn't want to know what it felt like down there.

Jack's smile was sad. "I don't know, buddy. Probably."

He had to take a double look at Emmett's face. He was… grinning. "_Awesome._"

Jack sat up straighter. "What?"

"I'm gonna be like Professor X!" Emmett continued enthusiastically, basically bouncing in his bed. "Or like Jake Sully from _Avatar_!"

Jack's mouth crept up his face. "Well, if you put it that way... Actually... I used to know a kid who lost a leg. Well, part of it."

"Really?" Emmett's eyes, alive with energy, widened a bit. "Was he cool?"

"I couldn't have asked for a better friend. He had a metal contraption thingy as a replacement for his foot," Jack mused, thinking backwards. "Gods, that was a long time ago." It made him snort, all of those memories bundled up at the back of his head - like a piece of paper accidentally crumpled and chucked into the trash behind the desk.

"Cool!" The gap in Emmett's smile made Jack's heart twinge, remembering another kid who'd lost a tooth. Another one of the few who'd believed in him when it mattered most.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Jack put on that wicked grin, the one with the one eyebrow raised a touch and half of his pearly whites exposed. "Man, you could pull some awesome wheelies with a wheelchair!" Jack raved, hopping to a crouch, so the balls of his feet rested on the footboard.

"I _know_, right? And I won't have to walk anymore!"

Jack let out a "haha, heh", then bounced into a cross-legged position at Emmett's feet — well, foot. He hoped that the excitement Emmett donned would overpower the grief he no doubt would hold for a long time.

Just as Jack thought it, confusion drowned the eagerness in Emmett's face in the blink of an eye. "Wait, where's Willow? Is she ok?"

"She's fine," Jack said, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Sandy's taking care of her."

"Sandy?"

"The Sandman."

"Really?"

"Really really."

"Woah! So where is she? Can I see her? And Sandy?"

"I don't know, buddy. I think we may need to give her some time. You know, recovery." Jack eyed Emmett's splotchy face. "Maybe you need some time, too."

Emmett nodded solemnly. "That's ok. As long as she'll be ok."

Jack nodded, his grin softening into a gentle curve of his mouth. "We won't let anything happen to either of you. You're safe here."

"What's 'here'?"

"The North Pole."

Jack chuckled at Emmett as his jaw dropped so far, he figured he'd start drooling onto the blankets. "Like, _the_ North Pole?"

Jack winked. "Let's just say, whatever you need, we'll make for you. Toys, clothes… Whatever. The workers here are _very _capable."

"Woah."

Jack sat back, pulling on his feet, giving the poor little kid a moment to absorb the whole shebang of it all. He seemed slightly out of breath. Then he caught it. He slid his eyes over to Jack with a worried crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Do we have to go back there? Back home?" His voice was so heavy, but so tiny.

Jack swallowed. "We're not making you go anywhere. Not until you're feeling completely better."

"Ok." It seemed to pacify him. The crease disappeared, but the worry stayed behind the brown of his eyes.

"So…" Jack ran a hand down his neck. He didn't want to intrude, but he figured he'd get better answers out of a seven-year-old than a teenager. A _female_ teenager. With complicated _feelings_. It made Jack wince just thinking about it. Maybe a man-to-man talk would work out better.

"So, Emmett. Can you… Can you explain to me exactly what happened back at home? I mean," he added quickly, sensing the kid's defences fly up, "if you don't want to talk, that's cool, too. But we have to know eventually."

"No. It's ok." Emmett licked his lips, breathing in slowly. "It's just that Daddy wasn't nice to us."

"Your dad was the one… ah… you know…?" Jack prompted gently, motioning to his head. He wasn't really sure how to word it.

"Yeah." Emmett's hands fiddled with their fingernails, picking stuff from underneath.

"How was he not nice?"

"He'd hurt us." Emmett's gaze stayed lowered. "Mommy and me."

Jack's heart slowed, like his blood thickened, making it harder to pump it around. Maybe that explained why his fingers seemed to go numb, too, in a sort of raged despair. He didn't ask what his dad did. But he figured he knew. It made much more sense, now: Willow, wielding a lamp to defend herself when he popped open her window. The almost frantic dismissal of her boss's offer to give her a ride. And when Emmett came in, asking if he'd been hurting her… and her kneeling next to Emmett, murmuring "Not who you expected, huh?"

Jack groaned. _Oh, no. _

He didn't say any of the thoughts of bitterness or grief on behalf of these kids. But then a thought came to him. "But he didn't hurt Willow?"

Emmett mutely shook his head.

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I guess it's because she's new."

Jack quirked an eyebrow. "She's… new."

"Yeah." Finally, Emmett's eyes met Jack's. "We're Will's foster family."

_Oh._ His eyes slid closed in sudden understanding.

Emmett kept going: "Will's been on an adventure for, like, her whole life. She's been testing out families all over the place — you know, making sure they were ok for other kids, and stuff like that. Some of them ended up being slimy toads the moment she stepped into their house, and some had kids that turned into vicious dragons the moment their parents turned their backs. Some of them were as evil as Cinderella's step-family, and treated her like dirt..."

Jack listened to Emmett's various descriptions of Willow's past families with a downcast heart. Each horrible explanation made him long to talk to Willow, to ask why she didn't just run away from it all. But he didn't have to ask him why she stayed, this time around. He was looking at the reason right now.

When Emmett's explanations slowed, Jack cut in gently: "So, your dad. That night. He was going to hurt you?" He thought of the switchblade lying inches from that limp hand.

Emmett nodded slowly, hair spreading over his pillow.

"And Willow…" Jack didn't know how to put it. "She was protecting you?"

Another nod.

A small weight unhooked itself from his heart — _she did it to protect them_ — but a new one, a heavier one, lodged into it at the thought of Emmett's lifetime of pain, and Willow's lifetime of remoteness.

Jack breathed slowly through his nose, examining Emmett. He was back to playing with his fingers, picking very intensely at hangnails splitting away from the nailbed. So many questions swirled around Jack's head, bouncing against each other kind of uncomfortably, and so many assumptions that made his heart laden with a kind of sorrow he hadn't felt in a long time, but with one look at Emmett, he knew now wasn't the time. He cut the conversation short, for the little, tired child's sake.

"I'm still waiting on that snowball fight."

Emmett smiled, exhaling heavily out of his nose, before looking up.

"And it will be even _more_ epic, now that we're here." Jack wiggled an eyebrow at him, drawing a giggle from his lips.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, I can't give away _all _my secrets in one sitting, now, can I?" Jack teased, lifting from the bed onto the floor. "Once you're all better, we'll make sure to have ourselves a day you'll never forget." _After all, you're in need of a lifetime's worth of enjoyment._

"And Will?"

Jack smiled as he grabbed his staff. It left a delicate design of swirling ferns blossoming on the wall, from where it touched it. "We'll drag her butt out there, or my name's Tinker Bell." Jack slung his staff over his shoulder, making his way to the doorway.

"Hey, Jack?"

He turned his head, cracking the door open a bit.

"Thanks." Just a sigh, barely a whisper, as he fell back onto his pillow.

Jack watched him for a moment, before trying for a smile. "No prob," Jack murmured, more to himself, letting the door slide shut behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hola!**

**Okidoodle, here's a Jack/Willow interaction. I promise, this'll be the last slow chapter for a while. I'll try to keep it brief from now on.**

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig**

A gasp tore from my throat, like someone was ripping roots from the soil in my chest, and the force of it pulled me straight upright. It took a few frantic whimpers and steadying breaths in order for me to realize the sun-filled room wasn't the dark road carved into the side of a mountain, littered with pines and firs — not that you could have seen them through the blurs of white, or through the block of concentration you took to keep yourself from slipping on the heavy layers of ice...

I bit down hard on my knuckle, leaning back against the pillows. The pain my teeth inflicted on my skin seemed to keep the tears from bubbling up, so I just closed my eyes and focused on the breathing. That's probably the most useful thing I've learned from the flute lessons I took when I was younger. Now that I'd lost my flute, along with the collection of things other people got to claim of my past life, breathing exercises were the only thing applicable to my present life. Like, for example, filling up the four sections of your torso with air — diaphragm, lower back, chest, and the back of your ribs. Or belly breathing, blowing up your stomach and pushing the air past your chest, like you did when you were a baby. Before your stomach became the home of stress and worry, before you even realized stress and worry existed.

Or putting the metronome on at 60 and breathing in for four, holding for four, breathing out for four, holding for four, over and over again. It's funny how breathing kept me going. I mean, for most people, it's essential in a non-essential way, but it was my backbone. My lifeline. I could remember countless nights where I just kept breathing, even after someone screamed at me to turn the bloody ticking noise off. It came to the point where could count seconds flawlessly. 60 beats per minute had become the pulse of my life.

I slowed my intake of breaths, counting to four, then holding for four without closing off my throat. As I kept the air coming — in, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out, hold — I felt my spine melt against the pillows as I examined the room.

The sunlight's intensity felt like it was tripled by the snow lying in a thick layer along the bottom of the low-lying sill, packing itself against the window. It was like a wall of pure glass. I had to squint against the brightness of the early-rising sun, sending wisps of red and pink along the horizon, like a late warning of the incoming morning. The fire that had been keeping my toes warm last night had burnt itself out, grey ashes and orange-tinted embers lying pathetically dreary beneath the grate. Fortunately, the pitiful state of the hearth didn't detract from the cheeriness of the room.

Last night, I couldn't see past the far edge of the door, but now the snow-boosted sun beamed in through the panes of glass, exposing the walnut desk along the wall, which matched the woodsy beams running along the vaulted ceilings. What looked like a small dining table sat out in the middle of the hardwood floor, which was only interrupted in its shiny coziness by a bold woven rug — I figured I could lose a toe in it, it looked so plushy. A couple of chairs stood around the surfaces, the one at the desk out turned so it faced the others around the dining table. At the other side of the room, another window perfectly mirrored the one next to me. The walls were a cool blue, which denoted the very obvious Christmas-y feel of the room, without clashing entirely. It made the room glow with a crisp cold light, making it easy for me to want to be awake.

And then I saw the narrow silhouette, facing the window with his hood up over his hair. His staff was propped over his shoulder. I noticed that frost laced the knotted wood, but only where his skin made contact — that is, where his hand brushed it, and where it lay against the bare skin of his neck.

I inhaled louder than I meant to as I drew my hands out from underneath the covers — God, it was _cold_ — and it brought his attention over to me. He swivelled his head, and the few moments it took for him to grin at me told me I'd interrupted his line of thought.

"Hey, snowflake."

"Hey yourself," I replied, slightly languid. I pulled myself up onto my elbows, so I could lean back against the headboard. Stars pounded against the backs of my eyelids. I glanced over at the table where Sandy sat at last night. The jar of sand was gone.

"How're you feeling?" His face teased me, with an impishly sharp grin that would make a pre-teen girl faint, but his voice cracked slightly with concern. It made me wonder how much of my nightmares had leaked out into the real world.

I paled at the thought of it. I hoped he didn't see too much of them.

And I _really _hoped I didn't snore.

I shrugged in reply. Pulling vacantly on the drawstrings of my hoodie, I inhaled that brisk smell of ice, and that scent of wild pine that fills up your entire nostrils. Moving anything in general spiked pain along the surface of my skin, when fabric caught at the hardened scabs scrambled over my body.

"That's for you," he said softly, nodding towards my bedside table. With a lazy gaze, I glanced at the surface by my elbow. At first, I didn't really register the steaming liquid contained in a blue mug, but when I did, I nearly spilt it down my front as I tried to get it into my mouth.

"I remembered you said something about coffee..." He grinned at my clumsy gulps, but I closed my eyes in delight and didn't reply until it warmed my esophagus. It felt strange, that something that was so much a part of my real life had followed me here, through all that fear and darkness. It kind of proved to me how immortal coffee really is; I've always said it's the elixir of life. Now I felt it, more so than ever before, as I let its familiar strength seep into my blood.

When I took a breath, though, I gasped a little at the unfamiliar fire burning in my belly. It was a pleasant fire, don't get me wrong, but alcohol wasn't something I thought the Guardians even had _knowledge_ of. Aren't they supposed to be protectors of children? Kids aren't supposed to get the concept of alcohol.

As if he was reading my thoughts, Jack murmured, a little indignantly, "We're not completely naive, you know."

"So you go and lace my coffee with Bailey's?"

"North thought it might take the edge off. And maybe make you sleep better."

I grinned into my mug, downing the rest of it in a few huge swigs.

He meandered on long legs toward me, hanging his hands over his staff, which was slung across both his shoulders. The way he flicked that thing around, it was like an extension of his arm. It pulled the hood back a bit from his hairline, allowing icy tresses to poke out from under the frost-bitten navy.

"So…" I ran a hand back through my own locks of hair, placing my mug down again. His gaze flicked back up to me. "So, where's Emmett?"

A real smile, this time, small and wry, drew his mouth up. "I've been ordered not to tell you."

I bristled. "By whom, may I ask?"

"North."

"Santa Claus isn't about to keep me from my brother, thank you very much." I crossed my arms.

"He thought you'd say that." He chortled at the stubborn set of my jaw. "Which is why he won't tell you." When I sighed in irritation, he said, almost pleadingly, "You need to rest, Willow. And Emmett does, too." He planted his butt onto the chair next to my bed, reaching over me to lean his staff against the wall by my head. It raised goosebumps over my arms — no, not because he was unbearably hot, but because he was _extremely_ cold.

Of course, my body decided to side with Jack, making me inhale deeply in a yawn. I felt exhausted, and it rusted my bones and the backs of my eyes, which I rubbed rather ferociously as I muttered, "Sandy, last night…said something about his leg."

His eyes looked everywhere but at my own. His jaw worked, and he brought his hand to the back of his neck, making his elbow bend at a harsh angle upwards.

Dread made me slump. The air left my lungs, leaving them limp in my chest. "Jack."

The cobalt in his eyes drowned out the steely grey. "North did all he could," was all he could mumble.

I sighed, allowing a smidgeon of the vast pot of anger, angst, trepidation boiling in my stomach to steam over and filter out of my nostrils. That would be some story to tell his kids someday. If we ever managed to get out of this fairytale land and back into real life. _When I was your age, my sister murdered my father. We ran away, but the Bogeyman got to us first, and in the bus accident my leg was crushed, and the Bogeyman basically skinned it. And that, kids, is the story of how I lost my leg!_

I tried not to shudder. I quirked an eyebrow at the frigid boy. "You know, you still owe him a snowball fight."

A silver glint reappeared in his eyes. Man, they could change on a dime. "I've been thinking about that."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking you both need to live a little." He poked my stomach, spreading little crystals of frozen water blossoming over the surface of the fabric.

"What would you know about us?" I shot back. I was aiming for a gentle tease, but it all but ripped the light from his eyes again.

His voice was soft, kind of raspy. "Too much, I think."

So he knew. About Jason.

My words came out shallow. "Jack. I know what you must think of me —"

"Sh." He touched a warm, but cold, finger to my lips, which were working kind of hard to bring out an explanation. "You were doing what you had to. To protect both of you."

_Yeah. Yeah, sure I was, Jack. The only thing I could do to make it out unscathed was to beat his head in. It was absolutely unavoidable._

I longed to say it, but it wasn't true. And I refused to lie to him. So instead, I just pressed my lips shut and nodded, so he'd drop his hand. He smiled at me in a sort of lukewarm manner, pulling his hood back.

And, of course, my stomach decided to have the last word.

"Woah." Jack stared at my torso, slightly in awe. "I didn't know girls could make noises like that."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help but smile.

"So. Food it is, huh?" He wiggled an eyebrow at me, but I kind of blanched at the thought of a sandwich.

"Um. No. No food." I winced at the sharp pain piercing my stomach. "That would end badly. It's just my ulcers being stupid."

"Ulcers?"

"Um. Heh. Holes in my stomach. It's not a big deal." I figured the poor guy didn't know too much about… well, _anything_ us modern-day kids knew. But, I mean, the boy just handed me a mug of liquored coffee, so I wasn't even sure what the hell he knew about anything. I rubbed my forehead, slightly dazed by the confusing jumble of knowledge Jack seemed to have of the world.

I didn't look at Jack's face as I wiggled my toes under the sheets. I knew the moment they'd make contact with the crisp air outside their warm home buried in blankets, they'd turn blue. "You don't happen to have any socks on you, do you?"

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "Really. You're wearing my favourite hoodie, and now you want to bust into my sock collection?"

"You haven't worn a sock on your feet since the moment you came out of the womb, Frosty," I countered feistily. "And it looks like you've got a whole closet of the same outfit." I eyed the navy that donned his own shoulders. No frost flecked the fabric on me, but it collected possessively along his collarbone and on his elbows and the edges of his sleeves.

He opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he crouched behind the bed to grab something, then chucked them onto the sheets. "Here. North had the Yetis make these up for you."

I slipped the tawny slippers under the blankets to my toes. They were _so_ soft — like heaven and cotton candy and old woman's hair and snow, but toasty and warm. _These are _never_ coming off. I hope I don't end up with fungi between my toes. _

I frowned at that thought. It would be a price worth paying for these puppies.

"All good?"

I nodded. With my toes properly protected against the primed knives of frostbite, I started to slide my feet out from under the blanketed warmth, gritting my teeth against the swirl of fluid in my forehead. I needed to see Emmett.

"Uh-uh," Jack murmured, pushing my chest back against the pillows.

"What —"

"You're officially a bed-ridden patient." He eyed me playfully. "Like, seriously, we've stationed bodyguards at your door."

I rolled my eyes, but again, to prove Jack's point, my head spun a little. I had the feeling that I wouldn't last very long, standing up or anything.

Sighing dispiritedly, I sunk back into bed, curling into the blankets and the pillows. I could feel sleep tugging at my eyelids — the caffeine had evidently been outweighed by the alcohol, which was making me drowsy — but I was curious. The incarnation of winter itself was sitting feet away from me, watching me as I snuggled into the tangle of afghans and sheets, against his cold. I couldn't just sit there and make small talk.

"So… Can I ask you a few things?" I pushed my voice past a yawn.

He considered. I figured he was debating if he should make me answer his questions, too. But he decided to be kind to me, pulling his feet under his butt. "Ok. Shoot."

I mocked holding a microphone to my face, deepening my voice and lilting it around playfully, so I sounded like Jonny Carson. "Alright, Mr. Frost. Tell us: what's your full name?"

When I swung the mic in his direction, he laughed around his answer. "Jackson Overland Frost."

"Overland?" I made a face, dropping my arm, falling out of character. "What kind of middle name is Overland? Sounds like someone Judy Garland would sing about."

"Huh?" He just blinked at me for a second, then shook his head, dismissing my cultural reference. "It's weird because it's from 300 years ago."

_Ok, he gets the talk show reference, but not the _Wizard of Oz _one? How much does this boy really know about real life? _I masked my confusion. I'd have more than enough time to figure him out. So I just said, "So... so that's how old you are…?"

He beamed at me like an idiot. "I'm a seventeen-year-old three-hundred-year-old."

"That makes all kinds of sense." I rubbed my forehead again. "And you're the Guardian of…?"

"Fun," he filled in the blank. He grinned again. God, I figured I could cut myself on that sharp grin. He looked like a teenage hellion, which kind of went along with his next statement: "Snowballs and funtimes."

"Ok, so what kind of powers do you have?"

"Um…" He drew a blank. He obviously didn't think about it too much. "I dunno. I freeze things, I bring kids snow days, I can fly —"

"Wait, _what?" _I but in, snapping my eyes wide open._ "_You can _fly? _I've always wanted to fly." My tone was slightly acidic with jealousy, making him laugh at me.

"Well, it's not technically _flying_," he admitted, leaning forward onto his knees. "I just hitch rides with the wind. Like a snowflake."

"There's a difference." I snorted. "You're joking."

"Not this time, _snowflake_." He poked my nose lightly.

"Alright then, Mr. Best Friend with the Wind, if you're cold, does it mean you can't get hot?"

He twitched an eyebrow at me. "That's a very perceptive question."

I just shrugged.

"No, I'm not very comfortable whenever I'm in contact with something warm."

"So, no cocoa for you."

"Nope."

"Or fireside songs?"

"Uh-uh."

"No vacations around the equator?"

"No. Well…" He thought about it for a moment. "Only if I'm really high up in the air."

"So, like in the mesosphere," I supplied.

With a befuddled face, nodded slowly. I could tell he didn't have a clue what I was talking about. "Sure."

"It's the coldest part of the atmosphere." He nodded, but I knew I'd have to explain it a bit better later. "What about human body temperature?"

He shook his head gently, a sad smile upturning his mouth. He knew what I was getting at.

I thought, kind of sickened, about how much blood he must've been forced to deal with because of me. Holding his hands to my throbbing wound. I must've hurt him as much as Pitch had hurt me.

But I didn't say that. I just winced against my growing nausea and said, "Sorry."

He smiled a little. "It's ok, snowflake."

He said it like it really was ok, so I didn't press it. "But that's… kind of devastating."

"What?"

"No cocoa or campfires or hugs or vacations."

"Woah woah woah, whoever said I couldn't give people hugs?" he said with a sly smile.

I didn't know how to reply to that. The Bailey's was starting to make my eyelids droop. So I just turned the conversation at a right angle. "So no school for Frosty?"

"No." He pressed his lips together. "No, I missed out on the whole school thing."

My voice was kind of dusty. I knew sleep wasn't very far off. "You sound sad about it."

"I kind of am." Where my voice quietened with doziness, his voice energized, and he started fidgeting on his butt, splaying his hands around. "I'd like to _know_ things about the world, you know? Like ulcers, or the coldest part of the atmosphere." His eyes lit up, like learning was the most exciting thing he could ever imagine, and his hands cupped something invisible in front of his face enthusiastically.

But you and I both know that's not the case, now is it?

"Um, I hate to break it to you, Frosty," I chuckled, "but school is the complete _opposite _of snowballs and funtimes. And... there are a lot of things about the world you don't really want to know about."

"I know." Together we pressed our lips together in sad smiles.

But I knew what he meant. I figured he missed the whole guffawing at girls with other guys, or the slamming of the locker door at the end of the day. It was _going to school_ that he missed, not just the knowledge. It made me think… Maybe he didn't have a life outside of this. Maybe flitting around in the snow, unseen, was his version of real life. It made me sad, the thought that no one ever saw him.

But I didn't ask him about it. Maybe, if I didn't ask him about his past, he wouldn't ask me about mine. So, with a jolting thought, I just said, "You know, if you have a computer and WiFi, you can help me with my schooling."

It took a second for him to react. When he did, he jerked his head away, narrowing his eyes at me like I was pulling his leg. "What?"

"I take school online," I explained with a grin. Social services finally got the hint that I'd never stay in one place long enough to get through a year of schooling. Turned out they cared enough about my education to put me online. Probably so they wouldn't be responsible for the uneducated hermit I would become. Or something. "I mean, it's no high school, but -"

"You'd…" He laughed disbelievingly. "You'd let me do that? With you?"

I brought a shoulder up to my ear, his dubious smile making me warm. "It would keep me company. And maybe teaching it to you would make it easier for me to understand."

"I, um…" He choked, like I'd just offered him the key to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, so I beamed at him as he said, "Thank you. Oh, my God."

"You're welcome."

We sat there for a while, Jack's face brightened with a goofy smile. He buried his hand into his hair, leaning on his knee. I smiled, slightly smugly, because I knew I'd just won myself a few brownie points with Mr. Snowballs and Funtimes. "So, anything else you wanna know?"

"Um, yeah. Where exactly am I?"

"You'll see," was all he said, and it irritated me. But it kind of solidified my hunch.

"Ok, fine. Last question: what's with your staff?"

His eyes involuntarily flicked to the knobbly oversized twig, leaning against the wall next to my head. "My staff?"

"Yeah, your staff." I looked at the knobbly G, and remembered where it frosted over with blue where it leaned against the skin of his neck. Now, it just looked like an ordinary stick of wood. "You take it _everywhere_. It's like… a part of you."

"It _is _a part of me. Before I was Jack Frost, I used it to save my sister. I guess it's what I'm supposed to be using to protect kids now. It's a kind of gateway for my powers. Without it, there'd be no Frosty."

I nodded against my pillow. I didn't divulge Jack by asking him about who exactly he was before he was Jack Frost, because I was too close to sleep and too wimpy to talk about it. So I just said, "Ok, I'm outta questions." I yawned, gleaking little droplets of spit. Gross.

"And outta energy, it looks like." One side of his mouth lifted. "Don't fall asleep just yet. I have a couple of questions for you, too. Nothing prying," he said quickly when my eyes snapped open. He was holding his hands up. "Promise. Just basic information, kay?"

I nodded warily.

"So, Willow. Full name?"

"Willow Annabella Inkpen."

He nodded slowly. A genuine smile lit up his eyes. "It's nice."

"It's mine. I know what you're thinking," I said, catching the unasked question in his eyes. "Emmett's last name is Abramson."

"Hey, I didn't know if that counted as prying," he said, holding up his hands.

"No, it's ok." I appreciated his thoughtfulness. It made my shoulders relax a little. And he saw it, too, which made him loosen up a little more.

"So you're sixteen."

I nodded again.

"You look older than sixteen."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. It's the height, I guess."

"And you act older than you really are," he added on, looking up at me through snowy hair.

"Aw. You'll make me blush."

He snorted at me. "And, um… " He picked at his fingernails. "Last question for now."

"Hm?"

"Do you… would... you want—?" He cut himself off with a sigh. "Never mind. I'll let you rest."

I knew what he was going to ask. And I really wanted to call out after him, telling him to stay, just until I was under. I wanted _someone_ here with me, so I could wake up and share a glance with them after those stupid nightmares. To let me know that there was nothing to worry about, now that I was awake. I didn't want to be alone.

But alone is what I have. Alone protects me.

And it would've protected Emmett, too, had I left him to be alone.

So I just pretended to fall asleep, as he murmured, "Sleep well, Willow," clicking the door shut gently behind him.

And I tried not to suffocate in the deafening silence.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hewo,**

**Just a bit more fluffiness. . This marks the beginning of a B-E-A-UTIFUL friendship. ;P**

**DFTBA,**

**doubtfulfig**

For the next few days, I played the part of "bed-ridden patient" rather pathetically. Everything made me jumpy. I just wanted to grab Emmett and curl up with him in a corner somewhere. Somewhere where it was just us, so we could talk about what had happened, so I could tell him I'd protect him better in the future. There was so much I wanted to say…

But I was forced to stay in this stupid bed, with this cold boy bringing me loaded cups of coffee and bowls of soup. My ulcers seemed to calm down a bit, which meant I could eat a bit more food before feeling like I had to puke it all up, but in every other way imaginable, I was uncomfortable. In the abundant hours I spent sleeping, visions of a twisting little body, or whispers of laughter and sinking shadows, or that winding road in Canmore… all of it haunted me. Every single time I felt my eyelids droop, I bit the inside of my lip, curling my fingernails into the skin of my palms, desperately trying _anything _to keep myself awake. I felt ashamed, that I dreaded closing my eyes. That, after _everything_ I'd been through, I couldn't get a grip on myself to just _sleep, _because it had morphed into my biggest fear. Just my luck, that my biggest fear was something I needed as much as I needed air.

In my waking hours, I was constantly crawling out of my skin. Every time he was there when I woke up, his face irritated me. I didn't want to have to worry about entertaining him, or avoiding conversation that made me uncomfortable, or awkward silences. I felt like I had to hide my attempts to stay awake. I fought my exhaustion as quietly as I could, but I could see it in Jack's eyes: he knew how terrified I was. And my long-developed instincts kept telling me he was just _waiting_ for me to be vulnerable, so he could jump into my pants.

Worst of all, my nightmares seemed to follow me into the real world, making me start at the smallest movement Jack would make. Wherever looked, whatever I heard, everything would morph into Jason's leering eyes, the British voice, feverish screaming, frantic white blurs, the crunching of metal —

_I just want to be alone. Please, just leave me alone._

On the off hours where I wasn't sleeping, that's what I'd say, while he was there. _Let me be._ I'd say it, my pleading voice cracking. And after a second of just staring at me, he'd force himself to smile that hellish smile, and pull up closer, telling me to "shut up and eat", pushing a spoon into my mouth.

He'd click the door closed behind him after making me eat lukewarm soup, finally leaving me alone with my thoughts.

And then I'd want him back.

* * *

Her nightmares kept getting worse.

At first, it was just little moans, slight movement of the eyebrows, as she slept. But now, after a few nights of restless sleep, it had escalated into full-out flailing, endless panicky screeches tearing from her.

Sandy looked into it, more than once. For what seemed like the hundredth time, the little golden man could only shrug, shaking his head as he touched his hands to her relaxed forehead. For once, she seemed to be sleeping dreamlessly. Jack could only assume that was the effect Sandy had, on the kids. When he didn't use the dreamsand, his presence alone pulled them deeper into sleep. For once, all the Guardians were gathered in her room: North hung by the door, with Tooth watching from above. Bunny flipped a boomerang around absently.

Jack had stopped pacing to uncross his arms, watching Sanderson with squinted eyes. "What, there's no nightmare sand?"

Sandy's hair wobbled as he shook his head.

"So… so what does that mean?"

His eyes were drained of his normally golden light, and it finally clicked in Jack's head. He didn't need Bunny's explanation.

"Looks like she's giving herself nightmares." He exchanged a glance with Jack, green eyes fiercely luminescent in the dark.

"Her fear is taking over," North murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

A rattling sigh escaped Jack's throat. "Oh my God." _How could someone live with so much fear, they give themselves nightmares? What kind of horrible things are in that head?_

_"Please. Just leave me alone."_

She kept saying it, her eyes empty. But her voice was so thin, he knew she didn't really want to be alone.

He knew what it felt like, to be isolated with your thoughts. He knew how it felt to long for someone to share a burden with.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was afraid of scaring the Guardians away, or hurting them somehow, by letting them in. That maybe it would be best for everyone if she just dealt with it all.

_Yeah, right. You've been doing this on your own for too long, snowflake. Whether you want it or not, you're not alone anymore. _

As the rest of the Guardians filed out, Jack pulled up a chair next to Willow's bed, watching her head twitch as she dropped into another night-terror.

* * *

It was the worst one I'd had yet.

It was filled with such maniacal laughter, ringing in my ears, like some sort of sick soundtrack for everything that had ever hurt me. It even mangled the faces of those who hadn't: Emmett's bright features were darkened, twisted so he laughed as pain laced through my veins; North's beard splattered with blood as his hand came up and down over my helpless body; Jack's sharp grin, this time burning with malice, engulfed me, freezing me in place, so that Sandy's golden sand could fill me up, just as Pitch's had. As I screamed, writhing under the looming faces and the symphony of laughter, I watched the golden sheen of Sandy's body blacken, like ink spreading across the surface, glossing over his arms, his feet, his head, and I could feel the same happening to me, and darkness was crawling over my body, and explosions of cold pain wracked every inch of me, and Mom and Dad watched, blood dripping from their applauding hands, like it was the best performance they'd ever seen, and oh _God, _just make it _end_ —

The worst shriek I'd ever let myself scream ripped high and clear through the air. I jackknifed, my muscles pulling of their own accord, and hair flew into my face, sticking to it with tears. I could feel my hands cling helplessly to the sheets, and I brought them up to my mouth, stifling the tearful moans that still leaked out of me. Everything in me crumbled, and as I came undone, I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt myself vibrate, shaking with sobs, but I bit down hard on my fingers, as if that would somehow hold me together.

It took me a moment of panting whimpers to realize that cold arms had encircled me. I jerked back at first, but when he just pulled me in tighter, kneeling on the mattress in front of me, instead of pulling away, I loosened my grip on the sheets. Quickly, before I could think about it too much, I wrapped my own hands ad round his waist, sinking into his cool embrace. And as soon as I did, a torrent in me opened, and I sobbed harder into his shoulder, choking on the overwhelming darkness in my head. I vaguely registered the displacement of fabric as he rubbed circles at the base of my back. He burrowed another hand in my hair, chilling my sweating skin.

He was saying things, too, I realized. I had to concentrate to make his voice distinct against the whispers of laughter echoing in my head. When he pressed his lips to my hair, his words ruffled it. "Oh, God, Will, I'm so sorry," he whispered. His voice resounded gently in his chest, his warm words a soft undertone, but his soft murmurings couldn't stop the gasps or the tears. "You're OK, I promise, it was just a dream! It's all gonna be fine! You're gonna be alright..."

I couldn't reply. Jerky chokes kept tearing through me, making it kind of difficult to speak. My abs were throbbing, since they were violently fighting for air, and my tears froze instantly on his shoulder. They joined the flecks of ice on his chest; nothing could discern them from the normal hoarfrost that clung to him.

Sobs that ripped my midriff in half gradually slowed to soft shudders, but Jack didn't pull back. He just sat there, holding me in my brokenness, trying to keep me together.

My heart slowed, and, sniffling, I counted in my head, "one, two, three, four," so my breaths came in unwavering four-second intervals. If Jack noticed my attempt to get a grip, he didn't say anything. He just kept rubbing my back, his cold seeping through the fabric of my hoodie. It felt as if he was touching my bare skin, like the little brushes of wintry snowflakes.

It took me a moment to comprehend what he was saying, after I spent a few minutes breathing steadily: "Will, none of this was your fault."

I sniffed, kind of disgustingly, and cleared my throat of the leftover tears. I felt pathetic. Like a stupid little girl who didn't have a backbone enough to handle a bad dream.

"Jack —"

"No. Will, no."

I shook again, trembling in the effort of locking my tears back into my chest. I tried again. "If it weren't for me —"

"Emmett would have been left alone with his bastard of a father," he cut me off forcefully. I nudged my nose into his chest, inhaling that stale smell of icy nothing. "And you would have been pushed off into the hands of some other family that didn't give a crap about you. You'd still be alone, and you'd still be misunderstood, and you'd still have no one to worry about you."

I didn't answer. But surrounded by the grief in his tone, I decided, once and for all, that _naïve_ was the last thing Jack Frost was. In that singular moment, I knew he understood how I felt.

"Let us worry about you. Please."

I knew, right then, that I had a choice. I could peel myself away, turning to look out my window again. I could refuse his help, and try to save my dignity, which was kind of shot, after glomming onto an almost-stranger. I could get a hold of myself on my own, like I always had. I could keep myself distant, like I'd always done. After all, once I got out of here, where would the Guardians be? Here, it would be fine and dandy to have imaginary beings as my only friends. But in the real world, I couldn't rely on fairytales to keep me sane.

But, the thing is, I suddenly felt like the boy in my arms _wasn't_ a fairytale. He was there, wasn't he? Solidly holding my shattered insides, waiting for me to glue the little pieces back into a whole and happy Willow. And by the set of his jaw and the huskiness of his tone, I figured he felt my pain. He didn't want to go anywhere.

That made other thoughts flash rapidly through my head — _guys never stay close, they just get what they want and leave, you _know_ this, or maybe, even if he wanted to stay with you, it'll just ruin everything for everyone else, or maybe_ —

But I stopped the 'maybes'. I was done with 'maybe-ing'. I couldn't help but feel that maybe… maybe this time would be different. Maybe I was meant to see these Guardians. Maybe I was here for a reason.

And I didn't flinch when another voice, a soft one, an old and wizened one, whispered through my thoughts: _Trust this. Trust them._

So I chose.

I chose to I snort, rather wetly, into his chest.

"What?"

"This." My hands loosened their grip. "We're so corny."

With a hesitant chuckle, he pulled back. He looked me over gently, as if checking for leaks in my mask. But the light in his eyes made me giggle, and for the first time in forever, I felt like my smile _wasn't _a mask.

"So, um," I said, running the back of my hand along my nose. A really gross trail of liquified snot deposited on my skin, so I rubbed it against my hoodie, ignoring Jack's appalled glare. "Where's the little girl's room?"


End file.
